Sins Of The Father
by Illusive Writings
Summary: It all started with a dirty bomb in the middle of New York defused seconds before it blew off. A bottomless pit opened beneath their feet, swallowed them all, buried them in the past mistakes of two men who fought a deadly, worldwide battle for power that threatened to throw the world in chaos. VERY AU. Rating may change. Written for the 2016 Summer Ficathon.
1. Blind In The Deepest Night

_I don't own anything. Nada. Squat. Niente. Nisba. Niet. Nullius. If I did own even just a share of Castle's rights, nothing of this mess would have happened and we would have had at least a decade of seasons more. And all the Caskett babies we've always dreamed of._

 _So, here's my Summer 2016 Ficathon entry. For those who still want me to update Shadows, I'm getting there. I just encountered a huge writer's block and I'm trying to navigate around it. Also, this story has been floating around my head for a while (since February, to be honest, when I replayed Snake Eater and Peace Walker and Ground Zeroes in preparation of Phantom Pain) and I thought this would be a different take on an AU spy story._

 _And... in case a minority of you catch some similarities and stuff, yes, all the parallels, the mentions, names and locations that remind you of the Metal Gear Solid saga are there for a reason._

 _Hence, I don't own squat of MGS too, it all belongs to KONAMI, the game company that is basically the ABC equivalent of gaming industry that fired its most prized author and yet still wants to make more games out of his creation. Games no one will buy because no Kojima-San no Metal Gear._

 _Great thanks to Alex for the always awesome betareading, to Travis for the cover art, to Elisa for the fangirling when I told her the basics of the story and to my extraordinary husband-to-be who kindly pointed out that the first two chapters look more like Splinter Cell than MGS. Only problem is that I played only the first mission of the first game of the Splinter Cell saga. That's what happens when you take out the supernatural and the mecha out of MGS. You get Splinter Cell._

 _Hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it._

* * *

 **Part One - Still In A Dream, Snake Eater**

 **Chapter One - Blind In The Deepest Night**

It was a normal morning. The sun shone over New York, a light breeze from the sea brought a certain zesty feeling to the air, and everything was normal. Plain, if you want.

Boring even.

The morning commute crowd was occupying the pavement in front of the Starbucks shop where he was having a well deserved cup of coffee after the short, though intense, meeting with his publisher. Just as usual, they had roasted him for not completing his new novel by the due date and most of all, for killing the main character. His 'golden goose', as they had called Derrick.

Little did they know how Derrick had become stale and boring, not to mention that lately writing Derrick's adventures had started stirring up some of his worst memories, and that brought flashbacks of things he had fought nail and teeth to bury deep down in his mind, never to be recalled ever again.

Thanking the barista, he grabbed the cup and headed outside the shop. The cold breeze made him shiver a little bit, beneath the too thin coat he had mistakenly worn that morning, and he took a sip of the coffee in his hand, looking around.

There was a strange feeling, nagging him the back of his head. It wasn't a migraine, they never started that way for him, it was something he had thought he would never experience again, not after Alaska at least. Ever since he had woken up, that morning, he had felt like a tiny woodpecker was trying to carve a hole in his skull, as of to warn him of an impending danger. And he didn't like it.

"Come on Rogers, get a grip. You're not in the military anymore," he told himself, under his breath as he started walking down the pavement heading home. He'd usually take a cab or the subway, but he needed to clear his head a little bit.

He had left his days as a Green Beret behind. Ages ago. He had managed to create a new life, away from the hectic deployments, the covert ops, the secrets and the lies that he had been fed for years as he did all the wetwork for a government that was ready to leave him on the battlefield if things went south.

No more. No more calls in the middle of the night, no more solo missions in hostile environments, no more sketchy instructions given by crooked officers that had even more crooked deals with arms dealers, lobbyists and other awful human beings. He had given it up when his PTSD had gotten worse, so bad he had abandoned his own daughter for six months in order to deal with his own demons.

And yet, there was that feeling, he couldn't get it out of his head.

His instructors, nearly twenty years earlier, had described that sort of sixth sense for incoming danger he had as the innate ability that would get him out of every battlefield he'd ever set foot on.

To him, it felt more like a curse. All of the guys he had trained with had perished in the line of duty somewhere in time, while he had always returned home, one way or another. Some pieces of him were left on those battlefields, but he had always returned home.

"Come on…" he murmured again, trying to find something else to think of, and he had almost found it when in the corner of his eye he saw black van speeding down the road and a dark police cruiser following it, police lights flashing but siren turned off.

No one around him seemed to have noticed the sudden apparition of the two dark vehicles but it made him stop, for whatever reason. It wasn't a case of speeding, of course, that was was an unmarked car with a plain clothed police officer riding it, and the van had something suspect about it.

Something that caught his eye.

And when the woman riding the cruiser first approached the driver of the van, after they had pulled over, then went to frantically open the back of the van and stop and look at its contents, he realised that the bad feeling that been tormented him all morning had a reason to be there.

Even at that distance, across the street, behind the petite frame of the woman, he could see the distinctive shape of the universal nuclear hazard sign plastered over a sealed, pressurized container.

A dirty bomb.

Without even thinking and throwing all caution out of the window, he dropped the still full cup of coffee and sprinted towards the van. He dodged countless cars, hopped above the hood of a couple of them and finally reached the woman.

Before she could even turn her head to see him, he unceremoniously shoved her out of his way and took a look at the explosive device in front of him. Nothing too complex, but he recognized the style. The way the whole thing was built, the materials used for the containers, the detonator and the way everything was wired. He had seen this type of work in the past. Quite recently too.

As the memories of his bomb defusing course came back, so did the adrenaline rush of the battle. A battle against a timer, that read ten seconds before the deflagration would instantly kill everyone in the small plaza and scatter enough radioactive material to contaminate New York for years, depending what kind of isotope had been stored in the leaded, sealed yellow canisters hanging above the explosive charges. He had seen it all, multiple times. It was the style of a very distinct man he had fought against over and over again since 1993.

He had no time to defuse it. Not the traditional way. But the fight or flight instinct he had spent so many years perfecting with training and conditioning was telling him that despite the lack of time he had at least try to do something, so he took a deep breath, grabbed the bundle of colored wires and yanked them out of their sockets.

He didn't really hear the woman behind him screaming not to do it, but as the timer ticked the last available second and nothing happened, he heard the loud yell of joy she belted out as she hugged him tight. And he hugged her back, despite not knowing a thing about that woman, except that she was clearly a member of the NYPD doing her job as she chased a suicide bomber down the streets of Manhattan.

He was still holding his breath and the wires in his hand when the woman let him go and finally he had the chance to see her clearly.

Never in his life he had laid his eyes on a woman as gorgeous as her, her smile alone would be enough to make a thousand men fall in love with her. He could swear his heart raced faster now than when the bomb was about to blow them all to hell.

"Oh my God…" Her voice came a strangled whisper. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked him, flashing her badge pinned to her belt, beneath the coat.

"Richard Castle, at your service," he replied, deflecting the question and extending his hand. But it was clear that she knew him, or at least his face.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD." She took his hand and shook it. "Now please explain how a mystery novelist knows how to defuse a bomb?"

Yes, she clearly knew him and his career choice.

"Well… it's a long story."

One that he didn't really want to tell her.

Despite that, he followed her to her precinct and answered her questions, as sincere as he could be.

"What were you doing at the scene this morning?" It was her first question, right after she had closed the door of the interrogation room behind her.

That, he could answer easily. "I had just come out of a nasty meeting with my publisher after I failed to turn in my last novel before the deadline. I had bought a cup of coffee and I was walking home when I saw your flashing lights and the van."

Detective Beckett sat in front of him and opened the folder she was carrying to a newly printed photo of the bomb in the van. "And what made you cross the street and risk your life to come and see what was going on?"

He shrugged. "Curiosity, I guess."

Awful. Absolutely awful. Good job Rick, he thought to himself. He was the worst liar in the world, he knew it, but he tried to school his face into a bland expression of honesty.

She wasn't exactly convinced too, so she took the photo and turned it towards him. "You have seen this type of bomb before, haven't you?" It was more of a statement, than a real question. "You've seen and defused another one. How come a humble mystery writer like you knows how to defuse, despite the brutal ways you employed, a bomb that our own technicians were staggered and wouldn't know what to do with?"

He have her another shrug. "I write novels about a CIA operative. I made research for those novels. I've seen _pictures_ of bombs like that, asked for help from bomb specialists to have some insight about describing these types of bombs. One of said bomb disposal specialists simply showed me a picture of a bomb like that and told me that the safest way to defuse a bomb like that, is to yank the wiring."

"Can I have the name of that specialist?"

"It was in fact Peter Stillman, of the NYPD. Happened quite some time ago, I doubt he would recall my name or face."

"Yes, I don't doubt it, but I'd say he'd have a hard time recalling your face simply because he's dead."

Oh. The news shocked him. He had met Stillman in the early nineties, last he had heard of him was right in the aftermath of 9/11, as he released a number of interviews about how bombs were definitely not involved in what had happened, that was how he learned he had moved from Special Forces to the NYPD.

"I'm sorry to hear it."

"Sure you are." She didn't seem so impressed. "Again though, why did you walk up to the van instead of escaping and save yourself?"

"I guess that after spending thirteen years in the military you learn a lot about self sacrifice," he revealed. "When I saw the bomb, I just reacted like any other soldier would do."

"I didn't know you were in the army."

"Special Forces. Honorably discharged in 2005."

It wasn't true completely true. The Honorable Discharge part was, but the year was wrong. His last mission had taken place in 2005, but just as the secret missions of the movies, that mission didn't appear in his record. Or any other official records, to be honest.

Now it was her turn to be stunned. Detective Beckett knew about his writing career, but his affiliation with the US military had never been revealed. Most of all because he had enlisted using his given name of Rogers and not the literary pseudonym he had been using as his official name, lately.

"And you wrote books even while enlisted?"

"Deployment can be boring."

The half truth seemed to satisfy her, for the time being, but Castle was sure he hadn't seen the last of Detective Kate Beckett.

And considering who were they investigating on, he was sure they'd need his help to find the guy who had built the bomb. And the guys that had purchased the materials, organized what looked like a full blown terrorist attack, from what he had heard. The operation seemed like they were going to blame Islamic terrorism, but Beckett's squad before and his own intervention had turned their plans upside down, thwarting their attempts to cause a new, even deadlier 9/11.

They didn't know it, but they were about to bite more than they could chew, if they went on with the investigation. They were on a path that would lead them all to one single place.

The graveyard.

Too bad they didn't know it.

"Mr. Castle, on behalf of the NYPD and the Mayor I thank you for your help defusing the bomb. You will probably receive a medal for it."

"I accept the gratitude but you can keep the medal. I have a whole lot of of them in a box at home, and all the blood spilled on them makes me hate them, I don't want another one."

"No blood has been spilled for this one, Mr. Castle."

"Not that you know of."

She leaned back and crossed her fingers on the table, rolling a pen between her thumbs. "You know more than you're telling me, I can see that. I doubt you have only seen pictures of this bomb before, you knew exactly where to look and what would happen. And I don't buy the whole _research_ thing, at all," she explained. "I understand your military background would give you a reasonable knowledge of explosive devices, but there's more to this. I and plan to find out what it is, whether you tell me or not."

Castle looked straight in her eyes and crossed his arms at his chest. "Detective Beckett, I can't tell you more because I don't know anything more." He strategically avoided adding _about this_ to his words. "I have seen bombs in my life and after a while they all look the same. Detonator, explosive, wires… this one had just the radioactive material added to it. You can interrogate me again if you want, but I don't know more than what I told you."

"We'll see about that," she exclaimed, standing up. "Don't leave town."

When let go, hours later, Castle rushed home as fast as he could.

Forgoing lunch completely, despite the pangs of hunger made his stomach cramp, he stormed into his study and tore the large framed picture of the spiral staircase from the wall.

He was punching the drywall when his mother walked in, all flustered and worried. "Richard? What on earth are you doing?"

He finally tore enough plasterboard away to reveal a hidden safe. "They're back, Mother." His voice was almost reduced to a whine, while he punched in the combination and opened the thick steel door. "They were about to turn New York in a post apocalyptic scenery with a dirty bomb."

From the safe, he took a thick pile of papers, three frayed manila folders and a bunch of old pictures from his time in the military and he splayed them over his desk.

"A dirty bomb? Here?" asked again Martha.

"Yes they…" he paused his words just the time he needed to find a picture of a bomb very similar to the one he had defused that morning among the others. " _They_ were going to blow us all up."

"With _they_ you mean _they_ as the group of rogue secret service agents that did that thing in Bosnia and Alaska?"

He nodded. "Among other things." His mother was the only one, outside his commanding officers and a few other generals back in Washington, that knew the truth about the nature of his missions. "Them. Too many things coincide, from the type of bomb they used to the modus operandi… they're back. And this time I'll put them down, one way or another. Tomorrow I'll take this to the NYPD detective working on the case and…"

"And what? Richard, those men are dangerous. Last time you tried to investigate on them they sent you to Alaska with the sole purpose of being their scapegoat for their failing coup d'etat. What do you think will happen this time?"

"I don't care. I'm done running away. I ran away for years after Bosnia and Shadow Moses, this time, I'll stop them, once and for all. I'm done hiding."

Martha took a deep breath and walked up to him, taking his hand in hers. "The flashbacks are back, aren't they?"

He fell on his desk chair, hiding in face in the crook of his elbow. "Yes."

"Why don't you just visit a therapist?"

"Oh yeah right, I just waltz in and say hey I'm a war veteran that nearly died trying to prevent the genocide in Bosnia before his boss calls him and threaten to accuse him of treason if I go and kill Mladic and prevent the death of thousands of innocent people?" he nearly shouted. "Should I go in and just spill the fact that there's someone, an oligarchy of powerful secret service agents that actually pilots the United States Of America via a perpetual state of war they instigate in order to keep the population under control with fear of something they supervise? Or maybe that through information control they feed us twisted and partial truth about what's really going on in the world to keep us in check? Oh that would just be the icing to the cake and boom, I'm being labelled insane and interned for life."

She knew he was right, he could read it in her eyes. Defeated, Martha simply let go of his hand and walked away. "I need to make a call, then I'll make you coffee. It's going to be a long afternoon." Then she left him to his notes.

Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, a man stood on the helipad of his offshore platform, enjoying the view of an oncoming storm already ravaging the sea some miles away, while the moon still cast its pale light on his home of concrete and steel.

The smoke of his cigar shone in the moonlight, while lightening lacerated the sky on the horizon. The scents of a storm were already engulfing him and humidity was rising, clinging to his old bones and the battered Vietnam war era fatigues he wore that day. He'd soon have to retire to his cabin to catch some sleep and be ready for the next day.

The chirping of his burner phone disturbed his quiet moment. Without even looking, he picked up the call. It didn't last long. From the other side of the line, a female voice he hadn't heard in forty years came to his ear like a siren song to deliver a code only known by the two of them.

As soon as the call had came, it ended.

With a deep sigh of disappointment, the man closed the call and put the phone back in the back pocket of his pants, then headed to the office of his intel manager.

Never in his life he would have wanted to hear those codes convened many years before between the two spies, over months of coded messages exchanged between postal boxes. It was a call for help, a distress signal meant to protect someone they both cared about, deeply.

Her words looped in his head like the blaring of an antiaircraft alarm he had heard so often in his past, haunting him until he felt even the marrow of his bones had frozen over with fear.

"V Has Come To."

* * *

 _Word count: without the long author note 3237_


	2. Reaching Out

**Chapter Two - Reaching Out**

The night didn't go as he had hoped.

Diving once again in the horrific images of his past, in the FUBAR missions he had barely escaped alive, in the pain and the trauma, had awakened the demons, and they had come to visit him in his dreams.

He saw flashes of dead soldiers of his unit, of bombs and hasty executions carried on by the roadside, the screams of the children, the stalwart expressions on the faces of the grown men as they were gunned down. And the women… he didn't even want to think about what had happened to the women.

Then there was Shadow Moses. On the remote island of the Alaskan archipelago a group of his former comrades had taken residence after defecting to the enemy and were threatening to launch a nuclear missile over Washington. He had been sent in, apparently to take them down, but in the end he had seen through the curtain of lies carefully placed over his eyes and had realized the true meaning of that mission.

His death, so the blame of a failed coup could be placed on him.

By surviving and getting out of the military base he had managed to throw their plans out of the window and, apparently, stop them for a while.

At what cost though?

He had been forced to gun down people he considered friends. Members of his unit, elite soldiers that had been harbored by the US Special Forces to survive in extreme conditions, to take care of missions no one else in the world would have undertaken. He had to place a bullet in their heads, the orders were adamant.

Their lifeless features haunted him like a wax statue all night, until he had given up, showered, dressed and went back to his notes.

If he had to see their faces all night, better do something productive instead of waste so much energy while trying to keep the panic attacks at bay. If he concentrated on something at hand, despite the fact that all those notes, all those pictures, those mission reports he had stolen through the years were the cause of all his troubles, he had a better chance to maintain at least some control over himself.

By seven in the morning, he had gathered enough on the nameless organization that had forged his life both as a soldier and as a civilian to prove his case. He said goodbye to his daughter and mother, who asked him to rethink this idea of going against them, again, but let him go all the same, then he walked out of the loft. File tucked beneath his arm in a new folder, he walked all the way to the 12th precinct, both to clear his head after a sleepless night and to come up with a good story to justify everything the folder contained and all his knowledge of this ubiquitous organization that had no name but apparently had tentacles everywhere.

It looked like the plot of a James Bond book.

 _We could call it SPECTRE_. He thought as he entered the 12th precinct, with two cups of coffee on a small cardboard tray. He asked the uniform at the door if Detective Kate Beckett was already in and once he got an affirmative confirmation and passed through the security controls, he headed to the Homicide division.

The bullpen was almost empty, so early in the morning, but Detective Beckett was already at her desk, filing paperwork. She was leaning heavily on the table, one elbow propped on its surface as she held her hair in her left hand, to keep it out of her eyes.

She looked like she hadn't slept a minute, and yet she still shined in the bright yellow light of the morning sun.

Castle had to fight with a sense of incoming panic to actually walk up to her, but he did it despite the slight shaking of his hands.

Silently, he placed her cup of coffee in front of her and waited for her to notice him.

Beckett startled in her chair, the pen flying out of her grasp and rolling on the desk to hide behind a pile of folders. "Mr. Castle…" she called, a bit out of breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I come with a peace offering after yesterday, in the form of caffeine. I really hope I got your order right, grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, right?"

He saw a sparkle of happiness in her eyes at the mention of the way she liked her coffee, but she was also baffled by it. She had never shared it with him, but she had asked a uniform going out to refill each one with their favorite order, the day before. A young girl, if he recalled right, at one point had come out of the evidence deposit room, claiming that no one would ever accomplish anything that day if they didn't eat something and had proper coffee, not the dishwater their brewer could make, and had offered to pick up everyone's order. Even his. That's how he had learned Detective Beckett's favorite.

"I heard you calling for it, yesterday," he explained as she took the paper cup and inhaled the thick aroma coming from it.

"Thank you, but it wasn't necessary."

"Not necessary, but I felt like I acted like an uncooperative witness yesterday and that I caused you more stress than you needed. So I'm here to rectify what I did yesterday."

"How?"

Castle picked a chair from a nearby empty desk and sat beside her, before handing her the file he put together from his own, bigger one.

"I told I was in the Special Forces, right?" She nodded and opened the file. He watched her as air caught in her lungs when she saw the grainy picture of the same type of bomb that had almost destroyed half of Manhattan the day before. A picture he had taken himself in Somalia, in 1997.

"Detective Beckett," he started, suddenly fidgeting on the chair as he fought with a sudden flashback of a child being gunned down by a rebel soldier while he hid beneath a cardboard box. "In Special Forces… sometimes you get drafted in more _discreet_ type of units. Covert ops, secret missions, the whole lot. Unfortunately I can't disclose much, but I can tell you that I've encountered that type of bomb many times before. This one is from Somalia."

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked. "Do you have a lead on who built the bomb?"

Castle ran his fingers through his hair, trying to find the right words.

"Technically, the man that built the bomb in the picture is dead. I put a bullet between his eyes in 2005, I suppose his body burned to a crisp when the place was bombed after I had escaped."

"Mr. Castle, you either explain this or I'm going to have you escorted outside and ban you from this precinct." Her voice didn't leave room for misunderstanding. She didn't want to put up with his crap and he was making it harder than it really was.

He only wished he could disclose more details without putting her in the crosshairs of his own demons.

"Detective, listen to me. I can't tell you much of what I did or what I saw or why I was ordered to do this or that, but I beg you, believe me. The bomb yesterday… it wasn't a lonewolf with mania of grandeur, it wasn't just a random Islamic terrorist organization, it wasn't Al Quaeda or whatever… this is an inside job, someone in Washington wanted that bomb to go off."

"You mean this is CIA?"

Castle chuckled. "You wish. In comparison, CIA's hands are spotless, not a drop of blood on them. I don't have names, except for former associates, but I tell you, there's someone, above the upper management, more powerful than the POTUS or any federal agency, that wants to keep us at war. I've witnessed their deeds, first hand. I bear the scars of the cheap tricks they pulled on humanity in the past fifty years. All the evidence I could find are in that file."

"Sounds a lot like a conspiracy theory, Mr. Castle. Why are you even telling me this?"

He leaned closer to her and gently stopped her quick rifling through the pages, only to pick up a small stack of sheets clipped together by a rusty paper clip. "I wish it was a conspiracy theory, but it isn't. And I'm telling you this because this time they hit too close. They could beat me, hurt me, even kill me I wouldn't care. But yesterday, that bomb would have killed too many innocent people, my own mother and daughter among them. That's why I'm here. I can't let something like this happen, not after…" He paused, his mind flooded with images from the horrors he had witnessed in Bosnia. "Not after what I saw in the past. The blood on my medals that I spoke of yesterday, it's a lot. I can't wash it away, I can't go back and save those people, but at least I can prevent more from dying now."

He showed her the report of one of the first covert ops mission he had undertaken, back in 1993. It was one of the few that wasn't classified. Mostly because everything went as expected and no one got hurt.

The first page showed his own record, with a picture of a much younger Richard Rodgers, as he went back then, in high uniform. It wasn't necessary to their investigation, but he had put it in the file to give himself some credit in her light. If she decided to search his files, that particular mission report would probably pop up on the top of the list, and it would be the only one she could access, as the others, more than one hundred, were all marked as confidential.

"So you were really in Special Forces."

He nodded. "I was. And I've seen my share of crap in warzones. Now, you're free to refuse to believe my ramblings about overpowered men controlling the sorts of the United States of America for their own profits, just bear with me about the bomb. We can start from there."

"What do you mean _we_? There's no we in this!"

"Detective, you don't know what you're about to face. Believe me, I've seen it myself, I've lived it on my skin. They're invisible, but they are everywhere. Even here, and if they aren't here yet, they have ways to get in," he explained. "I'm here to help."

Her hand twitched, fingers spasming a little bit around the pen she had fished from its hiding spot. "Why should I trust you? You barged in after you lied to me yesterday, claiming you come with evidence for a case we are ready to close… you could be one of them. How can I be sure you're not here to derail us?"

Castle sighed. He had no way to prove to her he wasn't one of them. For what she knew about him, he could really be one of their spies.

"You can't be sure. I know, it's a lot to take in but let me help. I know how they work, I can see through their smokescreen and I tell you… someone is trying to replicate the work of an artist of bomb building. An artist whose life I ended six years ago, but I knew he had an apprentice. A member of my own unit. One that, at the time, hadn't defected yet. But it's clear they lured him and he's now on their side. Or they forced him, I don't know, but it's him. His name is Donald Chandler Anderson."

When he mentioned the name of the person he was sure was responsible for that bomb, Beckett reached into a pile of folders stacked beside her computer screen and pulled one. "Donald Chandler Anderson was found dead a week ago in a motel in Queens."

She gave him the thin file and he opened with hands shaking with anger. He quickly read the report, stabbed multiple times in the back, only one wound though proved to be fatal, murder weapon was a combat knife used in Special Forces. No fingerprints, no DNA, nothing.

He knew the drill. That was how they had planned to kill him too, six years ago, to make it look like he had fought with someone and had been killed in the process.

It was the first real lead he had in a long while and coming right after the bomb…

But when he thought he had read everything, Beckett handed him more files. "So were these men and women." Her voice faltered, when she pronounced the last word. "Same modus operandi, same type of weapon, everything matches. We thought we had a serial killer that killed randomly, but if you tell me that Anderson is probably the man that built the bomb… it can't be a coincidence."

He shook his head. "Nope, looks more like a contract killer." He omitted the fact that he knew the name said contract killer went by. No need to add more fuel to a fire that was already burning too bright. "So? You believe me now?"

She took a deep breath and looked at the contents of his file spread over her desk, hands down as if to keep all the sheets from flying away. "No… I don't believe you. Not about the whole SPECTRE style organization, but I do think you have a point about the bomb. And this photo…" She pointed at the print of Somali bomb. "This tells me you may know more than you are allowed to say."

"In fact, I do. And I'm willing to help."

"You'll have to speak with my Captain, I'm not sure you would be allowed to help us though, as a civilian."

"I have my way with words."

Two hours, a long chat with Captain Roy Montgomery and a stack of weavers signed, Castle was officially on board. Montgomery had been as skeptical as Beckett about his knowledge about that bomb, the only detail he had disclosed, other than the fact that he was part of the army for a while, but he had allowed him to join Beckett and her team in that investigation.

It seemed like he smelled something fishy too.

He signed the deal when out of nothing he brought up the name of Donald Anderson. The dead former bomb specialist was the link between his file and their investigation that allowed Castle to be taken seriously and not pushed aside as just another conspiracy theorist coming out straight from X-Files.

"Mr. Castle, these are Detective Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito, my partners in the team. We were in charge of the murder that brought us to discover the bomb."

They shook hands. "Nice to meet you."

"Excuse the bluntness, but what could a mystery writer know about a dirty bomb?" asked Esposito.

"Mystery writer, former Green Beret and the guy who defused said bomb," Castle pointed out, hiding the annoyance of the insination behind a mask of sarcasm and a fake smile. "What else could I know, except for the name of the man who built this bomb?"

Esposito, who Castle could immediately identify as former military himself, shrugged his shoulders. "So, what do we have?"

* * *

 _Word count: 5836_


	3. Grasping For A Fleeting Memory

**Chapter Three - Grasping For A Fleeting Memory**

Castle found it quite difficult to adapt to the police methods of investigation. They were forced to move between very strict rules, occasionally bending them but unable to break them if they wanted their case to hold during trials, and Castle was compelled to go along with their schedule.

For a moment, one day as he made coffee in the break room, he found himself missing the way covert ops worked. Even just a hint of wrongdoing, somewhere in war zones or sensitive areas and in half a day intel teams would rush to the place and gather enough so an agent could infiltrate and get rid of the issue. For years, that agent had been him.

Most of all because he was the only one that survived, in the long run, ever since his unit was created.

Recreated, to be precise, since the whole idea came from an old borderline clandestine CIA unit that was shut down after a major mess up with URSS in 1964.

They were making progress though.

Once the connection between the murder of Donald Anderson and the bomb was made official by the lab report that found traces of explosives on the body, not to mention the bits and debris of it in the motel room, things worked a bit more smoothly.

Still, to him, everything was going at the pace of a turtle.

What made things worse were his nightmares.

Castle had been convinced that things would slowly get better as he actively worked on finding a way to end the way this… _organization_ that influenced his life, but the more the team uncovered small details the worse things got.

About two weeks in this unusual partnership with the detectives, things got out of control.

Paranoia filled his thoughts, and fearing for his life and that of his family, he had pulled out his gun and silencer from the safe and started sleeping close to it. The few hours he could sleep at least, since with nightmares came the sleepless nights, when he found himself engulfed in the worst of his memories and couldn't shove away the images of war, the desolation and devastation brought by it on those who can't fight for themselves but are victims of the circumstances.

One night, after a long day he had spent scouring Anderson's financial records, finally handed over by the FBI, he had dragged his tired body to bed, after a shower and quick bite. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow, hoping that being this worn out would facilitate a dreamless night. But he was wrong.

So, very, wrong.

In the haze of sleep, it felt like reliving the events that had led to one of the worst genocides of recent history. The briefing of the mission, done hastily in the back of a nearly empty NATO C-130, his commander screaming his orders to be heard above the noise of the four engines, then the drop off in the middle of nowhere in the Balkans, then the day he spent in the woods, avoiding, while at the same time following military convoys to find the place where the Serbs were going to carry out their genocidal plans.

He saw the ragged, malnourished faces of dozens of men and boys, being dragged away from their families on untended and rusty busses, amassed in houses, tied and gagged and blindfolded. He saw the guns, trained on their heads, rifles and pistols alike. He heard the voices of the soldiers, speaking a language he couldn't understand except a couple of words here and there because he spoke a bit of Russian.

He saw he man in black BDU, so out of place in a large group of men in old Soviet-style camouflage, with US Army insignias hanging above his heart. A colonel, speaking to one of the men who, years later, were held responsible for the massacre Castle had been ordered to stop.

And his coordinating officer, Colonel Campbell, shouting in the microphone to Castle to get out of there. He called the mission off right when Castle had that asshole of a mass murderer in his sights.

But when Campbell threatened to charge him for treason, knowing that back home with his mother there was a little girl with red hair waiting for him to come home, he couldn't disobey.

Then came the gunfire, all those shots and the screams and the sound of people falling in the mud, on the roadside, as he snuck away to the safest landing zone where an Apache helicopter came to pick him up as soon as the sun fell behind the horizon line.

He had been forced to listen to the massacre taking place, about six hundred meters away from his position, for more than twelve hours, sitting beneath a tree, his service gun in hand as he cried each time he heard the snap of a bullet being fired in the distance. Before long, the wind had brought the stench of mud mixed with blood. Blood spilled because he had arrived too late.

He woke, trapped in a pile of sweat-soaked sheets, the reek of the bloodsoaked forest filling his nostrils. In his panicked state, he had reached for his gun beneath his pillow and blindly shot at whatever stood in front of him.

Only to regain a quantum of consciousness when he found himself unharmed, pinned to the floor with both arms twisted behind his back by his own mother and daughter.

He had discharged a full magazine into the wall, thinking it was the man in the black BDU. Seven holes now decorated the wall opposite of his bed.

"The silencer…" he heard Alexis gasp as she struggled with him to keep him down. "Good idea Dad."

"Yes, Richard. Try to explain that to the cops…"

The next morning, Alexis had walked with him to the precinct. She had spent the whole time trying to discourage him, to talk him out of this ghost hunt. While touched by her attempts to take care of him, despite the many, many times he let her down by keeping accepting deadly missions while he had promised that the last one was truly the last, he couldn't.

Not now that he had a lead, a solid one, held together not by fishing line and spit, like most of what he called evidence and was contained in his files, but by solid, tiny, forensic findings.

"Alexis… I can't. You remember how I was, when I came back from Alaska?" he asked her.

"Of course I remember, covered in bandages and barely able to talk in monosyllabic grunts. Dad, you disappeared for six months after that! And you still can't talk about it, except with Grams. And now? Dad, you could have killed someone tonight!"

"Won't happen again. Grams took the gun, it won't happen again."

His daughter chuckled. "As if you need a gun to kill someone. What if you have another nightmare and I come down to wake you? What prevents you to react like tonight and strangle me?"

"Alexis… try to understand. This… thing has been haunting me since 1995. Nearly twenty years. I carry the weight of thousands innocent lives on my shoulders because of this… organization. I've killed people I considered friends because they tried to use me as their scapegoat. Now I have something to work on and I'm not alone in this. It will get better, it always does."

"Dad, you have nothing but ghosts to chase!" she exclaimed. "Ghosts that were once out for your blood and if they catch a whiff of what you're doing now will unleash hell to stop you. It has happened before!"

"I'm doing this so it won't happen again! What the hell can they do? Hire a contract killer? They've done this already and it didn't work!"

"What if they find someone better?"

"They'd have to clone me."

* * *

But Alexis was right. In his current mental state, he was dangerous, to himself and others.

He zoned off, often, lost in the noise of a battle that had happened in a desert, ages before, or wrapped in the thick silence of a sniping post, the chill of the night creeping through his clothes and freezing him to the core.

Post traumatic stress disorder sucked.

It sucked even more when, looking through the files on Beckett's desk, he felt like he was missing something. Some of his memories, those affected more by the psychological trauma he had sustained over the years, were nearly impossible for him to recall, consciously. They came back only when his subconscious let them surface, often when he was distracted or sleeping. Like the face of the man in black, in Bosnia. He was sure he had seen it, but every time he tried to recall it, it came just a featureless face, resembling a crash test dummy. He only knew that he was an american, because of the accent, caucasian and in his fifties, given the receding hairline and the gray splotches at his temples.

For years, he had been convinced that man was the most important piece of the puzzle. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, Castle wouldn't recognize him if he ever had him in front of him.

He was in the middle of reviewing Anderson's file when he recalled Beckett speaking of other victims, killed with the same MO.

She had the files piled with Anderson's.

Esposito and Ryan were out following a lead on the bomb, they had probably identified a piece of circuit board that was used to build the detonator, and Beckett was nowhere to be seen, so he grabbed those files and started looking at them.

Unfortunately, the other victims didn't ring any bell. Except for Anderson. The only link between them was the way they had been killed, stabbed in the back multiple times, but only one wound proved to be fatal among the dozens inflicted.

His hand instinctively went to his back, the spot where the fatal blow was always delivered. He could feel the ridge of the scar that resided there beneath the smooth fabric of his dress shirt and he shivered at the memory, of the man in sky mask tasked to kill him.

The same man that had killed those people in the files.

A cup of coffee appeared on the desk beside his arm. He looked up and saw Kate Beckett smiling down at him.

"Do you really think there's something in those files?" she asked, sitting at her chair with a blue cup on her own.

"I've been grasping at straws for years, this is real though," he replied.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Shrugging, he nodded. "Sure." Then he opened another file.

"You've been here with us for a couple of weeks, and I've seen how hard you work but… Castle, you don't look too good. Are you getting enough sleep?"

"That evident, uh?"

Beckett let out a mirthless laugh. "I'm a detective, Castle, it's what I do. I'm trained to notice things like this. Just like you memorized my coffee order even before you knew who I was, among dirty bombs in black vans."

"And you're good at what you do, Beckett. And to answer your question, no, I haven't been sleeping much these days. Bad memories and such… they tend to aggravate my post traumatic stress disorder and I don't sleep well."

He nonchalantly dropped the bomb, as people tended to react in extreme ways when he informed them he suffered from PTSD, and he expected a stronger reaction from her, but she simply smiled and grabbed the fresh cup coffee she had poured for him and moved it closer to her. "Then you don't really need this."

"Coffee keeps me running."

"So do food and sleep. Come on Castle, slow down a little."

"Can't slow down… not when…" He had just opened another file and the name of the victim stood out. _Johanna Beckett._

Speechless, he turned the file towards her. "Johanna _Beckett_?"

Her face suddenly lost all color. "Why is that file there?"

"No idea, it was in the stack you gave me the other day, the files of dead people killed like Anderson. Is she… your mother?"

Hiding her face behind her hands, she nodded. "She was killed twelve years ago. Stabbed in an alley, it was labeled as a crime of random violence, probably tied to some gang of the area."

"But you never bought it."

"No, it was too strange. I had a friend, Lanie, you met her the other day… look at the autopsy report and she confirmed that the modus operandi is the same. That's why I pulled her file out too, when we were given Anderson's case, I thought that maybe… maybe it was the break I had always been looking for but."

"As much as I can tell, Detective, it's the same hand, no doubt about it."

"Yeah, no doubt."

She sounded defeated, like she had lost all hope. He suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for her and that's when realization came down on him. How could a woman like her become a cop when she clearly had all the means to be something more than a homicide detective?

"You became a cop because you wanted to solve her murder, right?" he inquired, trying desperately not to sound like he was demeaning her.

She nodded again. "Yes. Great job I did at that. It's still open and unsolved."

"Let's find this bastard then."

"How?" she laughed. "I've tried, for years. I got nothing but the type of knife it was used. Why do you think you can help me solve this?"

 _Because the man that killed your mother nearly killed me six years ago._ He was tempted, to say it, but kept it for himself.

"This guy is ex military," he explained. "The way he goes straight for the kidneys, it's something we're taught while learning close combat techniques. He's a former marine, probably. And that's something to work on!"

"Could he be one of yours?"

"You mean Special Forces? Or maybe Navy SEALS." He shrugged. "He could be. Yeah, he definitely could be a Snake Eater. I mean, black ops units are a staple of the US military, there are many of them, not only mine, but it's possible. Or maybe he was even in my unit, but before I got in. I didn't get in there until after the Gulf War."

Not only possible, it was a near certainty. That man had a nickname too, he had heard someone calling him Rathborne, back on Shadow Moses.

"Why don't you search for similar homicides in the tri-state area? I doubt this guy has worked only in New York," he proposed.

"We could also search for New York based soldiers discharged from the Marines, Special Forces and SEALs right after the Gulf War," she added. "I doubt anything useful will turn out but… you never know."

"Grasping at straws Beckett, welcome to my world," he declared, smiling.

"I think your world and mine are more interlaced than you may think."

* * *

 _Word count_ _8371_


	4. All The Thoughts Keep Piercing

**Chapter Four - All The Thoughts Keep Piercing This Broken Mind**

The search for veterans based in New York City proved to be another huge haystack to comb though.

There were thousands veterans of the Gulf War based in New York, both natives and people that had moved there after being discharged.

Once the research launched had spit out every single name of former Marine, Navy SEAL and Green Beret residing in the tri-state area, both dead and alive, the team moved in one of the rooms with big screens and decent computers - Ryan's heaven - as Beckett called it, sat at the table with Ryan in command of the touch screen TV as they tried to find a way to narrow things down.

"I guess we can take out all the vets who suffered invalidating injuries," said Esposito at some point, after they had penned out all the deceased people and those shorter than 5 feet 9 and those who had moved away. Beckett's search for similar murders occurring outside the tri-state area had turned into a big pile of nothing, so they had theorized their man lived close to New York.

A few clicks and typing later, a bunch of tiny thumbnails of DMV pictures were removed from the puzzle on the screen. "And we're still up to more than three thousand names," he quipped, tapping his fingers on a thick folder he was using as mouse mat.

Castle observed as the three detectives worked the way they had been taught to, following guidelines and logical thinking.

"I've sustained invalidating injuries in my time in Bosnia yet I was sent to Somalia two years later," he said. "What kind of invalidating injuries did you put in the filter?"

"Amputations, severe head trauma, various degrees of paralysis and the like. Apparently, our guys were lucky, less than four hundred people suffered this kind of injury in the Gulf War," explained Ryan.

 _Yeah… lucky._

"How about honorable or dishonorable discharges?" said Beckett. "Or simply good conduct. Can we access their files and see if they had a good reputation? I doubt a well behaved soldier would turn into a contract killer just for the heck of it."

Ryan obeyed and they were down to less than five hundred men. "Nice!"

Castle felt the sharp sting of panic begin to rise in the pit of his stomach. Twitching, he grasped a pen from the table and started twiddling it in his hands to distract himself from Beckett's last words. If she only knew how many good, obedient, quiet soldiers turned into a life of crime for _the heck of it_ she'd be staggered.

And the fact he was one of those obedient, quiet soldiers that, by the laws of the United States, had committed crimes on US soil, made his stomach lurch. Secret missions went hand in hand with criminal charges, if they went south.

He was lucky enough that Shadow Moses didn't go south.

"Add PTSD diagnosis to the pool," he said, his voice narrowed down to a steely, monotone sound by the concentration poured into his words, trying not to sound in distress. "This man acts in cold blood, he's a calculator, gets close enough to his victims to feel their blood on his hands. Exactly what a person dealing with PTSD from war would avoid."

"You seem to know quite a lot about soldiers, for a guy who only has one mission in his record and then squat nothing."

Esposito didn't exactly like him, it had been clear from the first moment they had been introduced. Being former military who had dabbled in Special Forces himself, Espo saw Castle as a pompous good for nothing writer with delusions of grandeur and a short history in the army, it wasn't that difficult to see, from the way he treated him. Probably he thought Castle had fucked up on his first mission and had been desk bound until discharged.

"I deal with it every day," replied Castle, quite laconic. "And there's more than one mission in my record, unfortunately they're all confidential."

"I've heard that excuse before. Soldier sucks ass in battle, becomes an accountant dealing with provisions and throws the _it's confidential_ card on the table when asked. Old trick, Castle, it doesn't work with me."

"Detective Esposito, how long have you been in the army?"

"Five years, enough to do four tours between Afghanistan and Iraq."

"And you were in the Special Forces." Esposito nodded. "Marksman, if I have to guess."

"Sniper, actually," the detective was seething at being degraded.

"Good for you Detective," said Castle, no sign of chiding in his tone, or so he hoped. "So you were rarely in the middle of the battlefield. You observed, from a distance, and pulled the trigger when ordered too, right? You saw blood only through your scope, far away from you, never felt it drip down your hands and arms, spray on your face, right?"

"Oh because you did, right? Tell me, how many times have you been deployed?"

"As a Green Beret I did a tour in Iraq and Kuwait during Operation Desert Storm, then it was mostly touch and go single infiltration missions here and there."

"And none of those happen to be on your meager file!" snapped Esposito, standing up and leaning closer to the writer, as if trying to intimidate him.

"I told you, those missions were confidential."

"I bet they don't exist and you're just a boaster, trying to get some credit in the eyes of naive people around you by parading as a hero!"

"I'm no hero. Never was, never will be." Castle stood up, shoulders squared and head up right. "And I never pretended to be one. I never present myself as a former soldier, I came to you as one because I had to justify my knowledge of that bomb, and as a simple mystery writer it would have sounded not only weird but also suspect. I'm here to help because…" he paused, gripping the pen in his hand so hard his knuckles went white. "Because I know things. Things that I can't prove yet, but believe me when I say that I know that these people are capable of. I wish it was only a bomb in New York, but these people are capable of keeping the whole world on the verge of war, just because it suits their interests."

"Beckett, I can't even believe you can stand all this trash talk! Or Montgomery. Who are you talking about? Who are these people? What have they done to piss you off like this?"

"I can't tell you!"

"Oh come on! Soldier to soldier, where did you get your PTSD, uh? I'll tell you mine, in Fallujah, when I was forced to shoot a teen in the head. You?"

The pen in his hand snapped in two, the sharp plastic edges embedded deep in his palm.

"Bosnia, 1995, at Srebrenica, when I was forced to pull out of the field right before they started the massacre, a genocide I was about to stop from happening, or be put on trial for treason. Somalia, 1997, wrong intel drives mission in the wrong direction and hundreds of civilians perish miles from where I was supposed to find the rebels that had got them. 2000, Afghanistan, shot down and extracted for sheer luck after our agent inside Al Qaeda training camps betrayed us and half my unit got gunned down on the spot. 2005, Shadow Moses, Alaska. Solo infiltration of a sieged military base where a rogue group of CIA operatives held hostages and threatened to detonate a nuclear missile over Washington D.C. You happy now?" Castle spit out the last few words, knowing perfectly well that his voice and face are unrecognizable. "Now you know what happened, what I did, what I saw, how much blood was spilled because of me, what weight I carry on my shoulders. Are you happy now?"

In a fit of rage and anguish, Castle threw bloody halves of the pen against the wall, barely missing the TV screen. "Are you happy now?"

As silence fell in the room, with Castle and Esposito staring at each other like wolves ready to jump at each other's throat, Ryan slipped the folder he was using as a mouse mat on the table between them. "Javi, you can believe him. I pulled his full record out of the database. All he said, it's true, down to the letter. He was in FOXHOUND."

Esposito deflated like a pierced balloon. "FOXHOUND?"

"What is FOXHOUND?" asked Beckett.

"The most elite black ops unit in the history of the United States military," explained Ryan. "They only draft the best of the best, their operatives don't exist as long as they are… well, operative, and they are specialized in solo infiltrations, with procurement on site measures most of the time. If you want someone to sneak in a surveilled compound undetected, you call FOXHOUND."

"If you want a clean kill, no traces, no bullets, no nothing, you call FOXHOUND," continued Esposito.

"If you want to pull an operative out of mid-mission because more powerful guys wants the Genocide of Srebrenica to happen, you call FOXHOUND. Because we're chosen not only for our abilities, but because of our loyalty." Castle pulled a plastic splinter out of his palm and laid it on the table in front of him. "Captain Richard Alexander Rogers, enlisted in 1992, discharged in 2005. At your service."

Then he walked out of the room and straight to the restroom. He twisted the tap of one of the sinks and let the water flow over his bleeding hand.

He also did it to hide the pathetic hiccups that shook him as the panic attack he had been keeping at bay for a while suddenly seized him and cut the air from his lungs. He fell on the cold tiled floor, shaking from head to toe and unable to control the flood of memories that suckerpunched him. He felt like his stomach was trying to climb its way out of his mouth, but he had no strength nor enough control to drag his body to the stall.

"Hey soldier, stay with me," came a faraway voice he could barely hear. "Come on, let's get you closer to the toilet, uh? So you won't make a mess that _I_ will have to clean."

Small, warm hands grasped his belt and dragged him to the closest stall and helped him settle down on the floor. "Here, if you need to throw up…" Then he recognized Beckett's voice.

"Thanks…" he murmured, before dry heaving in the toilet bowl. He hated that feeling, the burn of the acid, but he knew it was the normal way his body cleansed itself from the tension accumulated before and during a panic attack. If breakfast had to go, it had to go.

"I'm sorry for Espo," she said. "Usually he's never such an asshole, I guess he was just bothered by all your confidential stuff."

He waved it off, weakly. "No problem. Not the first, won't be the last."

"He should have been a little bit more considerate though. PTSD isn't something to joke about, he knows it better than me."

"At least I wasn't armed. Couple of nights ago I woke up in the middle of a panic attack and discharged a whole magazine against a wall."

"That's why you don't sleep then? Dreams?"

He spit out a glob of mucus mixed with stomach juices and nodded. "Yes. Panic attacks and paranoia don't mix well."

"I bet. So… Ryan managed to pull out your complete record and… I'm beyond impressed."

He chuckled. "By my record?"

"No, that despite your record you're still alive and functioning! Quite an achievement."

"Not sure about functioning," he mumbled. "Look at me, I'm a mess. I'm a paranoid veteran who thinks the whole world is against him."

"From your file, it looks like you have your good reasons to be worried. Ryan said there are too many missions aborted half-way through, all before major happenings that actually affected the whole world. The one in Afghanistan… that's pretty big."

"About a year before 9/11…" The cool porcelain against his forehead made him feel a little better. "Yeah… now you understand why all my missions are classified?" She nodded. "Also, how could Ryan get access to my file?"

"Don't let the tame looks fool you, Kevin Ryan is a god of IT. It took him a couple of days but as he always says, military databases have holes all over, he just needed to find the right one."

"Great…" He sat back against the stall, and faced her. He didn't even want to know how bad he looked, covered in sweat and blood. "So, what do we do now?"

"You start being more sincere with us, for starters. How much do you know about our contract killer?" she asked.

"Not much, except that I thought he had died on Shadow Moses."

"So he was there too?"

He gave her a minute nod. "Yes, I almost fell victim of his modus operandi, I have a scar that proves it. And his code name is Rathborne. I heard someone calling him with that name, but I never saw his face. He wore a black ski mask. I can tell you that he's about an inch shorter than me, broad shoulders, a heavy weight… and brown eyes."

"Better than nothing. Listen…" she said, moving his floppy hair away from his eyes. "You need to relax a bit. Take your mind off this case, even for one night alone."

"Good idea… Why don't you come at my place, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

* * *

They managed to render him presentable, washed the blood from his hand and covered the wound with a bit of gauze and adhesive tape. As messy as it looked, it wasn't a deep wound, he didn't need stitches. The rest of the afternoon went by with Esposito warily moving around him, ashamed of what he had said to him, while they tried to narrow down the number of possible suspects. They added Castle's description but it didn't help much. There were still over one hundred former Marines or SEALS that answered to the still very vague characteristics they were basing their research on.

But as the sun started setting, Beckett dragged Castle outside of the precinct.

"So? Who am I supposed to meet?" she asked as she turned on the engine of her car.

"The best thing that ever happened in my life."

Minutes later, he was opening the door of the loft. "Mother, Alexis… we have a guest!"

His two favorite redheads appeared in the foyer in that moment. "Richard, how… oh dear, you must be Detective Beckett!"

"She is, mother. Please be nice with her, both of you. Make yourself comfortable, Beckett, make yourself at home and decide what you want to order in, they know what I want whatever you decide."

He left her in the more than hospitable hands of his mother and daughter and took a quick detour in his room to change his still soaked shirt. Before he went back to the living room though, he took the time to look at his reflection in the mirror.

He looked like utter crap.

Oh he was in for a bad scolding from both Alexis and his mother. He really looked bad.

"Time to suck it up Soldier…" he said to his reflection, before buttoning the shirt and walking back to the living room.

His mother had already poured the wine for herself and water for Alexis and Beckett, as she was on call that night, and they were amicably talking perched at the kitchen isle. "Sorry, the precinct felt like a sauna today."

"We ordered pizza. How was your day?" asked Alexis.

"Boring," he replied, receiving a wary glance from Beckett, but she hid the sudden panic at the otherwise simple question behind a bright smile that made his heart feel lighter.

That woman was extraordinary. She could even withstand the barrage of questions being thrown at her without fazing. And his mother was good at blindsiding people with all the wrong type of questions and her desperate attempts to find her son a good woman that could put up with his crap and help him with his PTSD. She had also acknowledged his daughter without asking too many questions.

Later that night, with their stomach full of delicious pizza and a lightened heart from all the happy, inconsequential chat with Martha and Alexis, Castle and Beckett found themselves alone in his study, surrounded by the remains of his file, the part he had deemed too extreme, far-fetched and dabbling in conspiratory territory and he had voluntarily omitted from what he had brought to the precinct.

"You never told me you had a daughter."

Castle shrugged. "Never asked me. And I try to keep her out of my life as much as I can."

"You do a good job at that. Her mother? Not in the picture?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore. Not that she's dead, no… Meredith's an actress and… she wasn't exactly made to be a mother. We had… an on and off relationship back when I was training and… she happened. We arranged that I got full custody, despite my hectic line of work and… she's here. Best thing that ever happened to me."

A long, thick but extraordinary comfortable silence fell between them, until Beckett broke it.

"So… Srebrenica…" she murmured looking at that particular mission report.

"Yeah… Crazy right? The beginning of my downfall."

"Why do you say that?"

He chuckled, rolling and unrolling the corner of a sheet between his fingers. "Because after that day of July, I've never done anything good to other people. You see… I had General Mladic in my sights, I was about to kill him, throw the army stationed there in chaos, thus allowing the NATO troops to barge in and save those men but… I made a mistake. I reported the presence of a man, an American man in american army uniform and… my Colonel immediately ordered me to pull back and do nothing."

"Any idea why?"

"It's that… organization, I have no idea if they have a name or not, but I'm sure that man was one of them. They want to keep the world in a constant state of war, I don't know exactly what they gain for it, but every time I'm there to stop a genocide, to quench the first sparks of a new war or stop the inception of a terrorist attack, something happens. Either I'm called back, ordered to extract, intel is wrong or I get a bullet in my stomach. A man starts harboring suspects, at a certain point, you know…"

"You never bought your handler's answers for those happenings?"

"Just like you never bought your mother's murder being a simple case of gang violence. Guess we were right…"

"It's a bit different though, Castle. Our situations aren't even comparable."

"We both lost something, and these guys are to blame. By the way, what did your mom do for a living?"

"She was a lawyer. She defence attorney, a good one too," said Beckett. "She had been working for a while on the case of a mob enforcer that had been proclaiming his innocence for a while and… she never managed to get the case back in court, she was killed before that."

"You think the case she was working on might be linked to her murder?"

"May be, I don't know. I interrogated the mobster, he only told me that he was framed, that there were crooked cops kidnapping mobsters for money and he had been framed and that he hadn't pulled the trigger that had killed the undercover fed. That's all. He couldn't tell me more."

Castle sighed. "Sounds like a good motive."

"What?"

"Your mother starts investigating on the suspect death of an undercover FBI agent, crooked policemen are involved, these guys are probably linked to my guys and poof, contract killer kills your mom. Sorry for my cynicism but I've seen this pattern repeat over and over again."

"I bet you did…"

Her phone chirped in her pocket.

"Body drop?" he asked after she had answered.

"Yes, looks like an interesting one. Want to come?"

* * *

 _Word Count:_ _11779_


	5. I Fall

**Chapter Five - I Fall**

"Jack Coonan," bellowed Esposito when Beckett entered in the swarmed apartment, followed by Castle.

"Stabbed to death. That's as much as I can tell you, at the moment," added Lanie as she did the preliminary exam of the body.

"Why is the name familiar?" asked the Detective.

"He probably crossed our desks a number of times," explained Ryan. "He's a well known enforcer of the Westies."

"Remind me again who are the Westies?" chirped Lanie, clearly confused by the dead guy's allegiances.

"Irish mob," interjected Castle. "Tough guys, they deal with drugs, counterfeits, racketeering, the usual." Everyone looked at him as if he had just declared that Earth was flat. "What? I read a lot!"

"Also, they take good care with the public urination on St. Patrick's day," added Ryan.

"And they also love guns, a lot. Like this guy loved his 12 gauge shotgun," stated Espo, showing them the gun in his hands. "Fully loaded, not a shell shot."

"Maybe he didn't have time to reach for it."

"More like he knew the murderer," said Beckett. "If he had been assaulted near the door, we'd have blood splatters down the hall, but all the blood is concentrated here. Definitely killed by someone he knew."

"Maybe one of the Westies…" murmured Castle, hands pushed deep in his pockets. "Look at that, he actually bought one of those Johnny Vong packages…" he said, laughing a little bit.

"No way!" added Esposito. "There's really someone that buys that crap?"

"Who's Johnny Vong?" asked Lanie.

"Really, you don't know him? Every insomniac in New York knows Johnny!"

Esposito turned the TV on and the infomercial played on the flat screen, with both former soldiers mimicking the asian guy in the too-big suit reciting his script with two bombshells at his sides.

"Hey, insomnia buddies, we have a case to solve!"

* * *

Being a well known enforcer of the Westies and given his mile long rap sheet, Beckett decided to wait until morning and check on his former employees to see if he had a next of kin or something, as no name had popped up when they launched a search on their database. They operated from a run down pub in Brooklyn and Beckett dragged him there, first thing in the morning, she had finished the coffee he had brought her.

"You really don't have to bring me coffee every morning," she told him. She had found a parking slot right in front of the Westies' favourite pub and she had just parked the cruiser.

Castle shrugged. "I don't mind," he replied. "You're kind enough to put up with crap every day, coffee is the least I can do."

"Not that I mind, but… Don't feel compelled to bring me coffee. After all, you saved the city, putting up with your crap is the least I can do."

Castle let out a mirthless chuckle. "You would have figured it out by yourself."

"What? That pulling all the wires would have disposed of the bomb? No way. I was panicking!"

"And you think I wasn't? Beckett, with all the shit I've seen, the bare thought of a bomb here in New York, a bomb dangerous enough to kill my daughter and mother, it terrifies me! I was panicking just like you!"

"You're different though. You're trained to control your panic and channel it into something constructive. Normal cops are trained to catch killers and thieves, when things go really bad," she explained. "You? You're trained to save the world. And you did! Multiple times!"

"Sometimes I wonder if everything I did actually meant something…" he muttered.

"Hey Castle… don't let yourself down like this. I bet that out there there must be someone that owns you his or her life. And even if there isn't, you still have a wonderful daughter to come home to. Now, come on, let's catch Coonan's killer, it will help you clear your mind from your… do those guys you're chasing have a name?"

He grunted. "Wish I knew… you can call them as you want, I never found out if they had an official name or if they were just a bunch of power-hungry degenerate CIA operatives that wanted to rule the world like a Bond villain. Call them Patriots, call them Philosophers… I don't know, pick a word and call them that."

"You know, Patriots has a nice ring to it. I bet that in their minds, all the things they did, they did it for their country, as deranged as keeping the world on the constant verge of World War Three sounds."

"Mh, yeah… I like it. In a sarcastic way, but I like it. Now, let's see how badass these Irish mobsters are."

The pub was dark, reeked of stale beer and bodies in dire need of a shower, nothing different from any other seedy public exercise around the world. Nothing Castle hadn't seen, here, there or somewhere else. As they walked in, Beckett ahead of him given the authority of her badge, Castle strategically slipped his right hand in his pocket. He had personally modified the particular pair of jeans he was wearing so the right pocket had an extension, big enough to slip his favorite knife, a Special Forces-approved survival knife with a shortened blade to make it easier to hide in cramped spaces, like a pocket.

The clientele was sparse, most of them were drunkards sleeping the hangover off, hunched over the sticky tables with only half empty pints of Guinness watching over them, while the rest were all tough as nails gangsters that drank whiskey instead of coffee in the morning playing pool.

He had seen worse.

Beckett approached the barman, a sweaty man in his forties with oily hair and a stubble that made him look like a pinkier version of Shrek. "Finn Rourke?"

"Who's askin'?"

"NYPD."

"Ain't got nothing for a bitch…"

Before the bastard could finish the insult, Castle had grabbed the hem of his filthy checkered shirt and had tugged him all the way across the bar, only to push him back on it, face down. "Say one more derogatory word to the lady and I'm gonna clean this fuckin' bar with your blood, understand?"

"Castle! What the hell are you doing?"

"Showing them some respect, good old army way… Now… Finn Rourke?"

The barman looked behind Beckett, at an elderly man with incipient balding and a once flaming red beard. "Here," the man drawled a bit, his thick accent made his R nearly impossible to be heard.

"Detective Beckett, NYPD, I'm here to speak to you about Jack Coonan."

The mobster crossed himself and Castle grunted. _Good news travel fast, uh?_

"Wha' 'bout him?"

"He was found dead, stabbed to death, in his apartment. He was one of your… employees, do you perhaps know anything about it?"

The old man grabbed his pint and downed a good half of it. "Dear lady, what gives you the right to waltz in my home and accuse me of killing one of my own? One of the very best?"

"Never implied that. Did he have family? Anyone close we should notify?"

"A brother, Dick. And a girlfriend. Don't kno' more 'bout it."

Something fell in the back, glass broke and a heavy object of something impacted with the floor after a long run down a flight of stairs. Castle had heard the sound of a human body falling down steps so many times in his life he had memorized it, committed it to heart.

Beckett walked past the mobster and went to investigate, hand already on the handle of her gun.

The scene that played in front of them, not to mention the interrogation of the latino mobster that came after that was nothing short of hilarious. Not that they got much from him except the usual omerta typical of gangs, and the absolute certainty that the guy who had just tried to defy gravity wasn't their killer, even if the Westies seemed to suspect so and they had found a nice, bloodstained knife in one of Trucho's pockets.

When Lanie called them down to the morgue, she didn't bring good news.

"No, your guy is not your killer. He's too short and that knife isn't definitely the murder weapon."

As Beckett inspected the now washed body and the wounds, Castle felt the ripples of tension quake his body, when he realized what she was looking at so intently. "Beckett, you've seen those wounds before."

She nodded, biting her lip as if to keep the words inside. "Yes…"

"On Donald Anderson." Lanie pulled a folder from a pile on a nearby desk. "And thirteen other people that we know of."

The detective looked up at him. "Rathborne."

He gave her a curt nod. "Rathborne."

* * *

When they returned to the bullpen, after a quick stop at a close coffee shop for some fuel for their investigation that didn't taste like battery acid mixed with monkey pee, they were met by Ryan and Esposito with more news on the investigation.

"First, the girlfriend came in a while ago, she wants to talk to you about something Coonan told her before he barricaded himself in his own apartment," started Esposito.

"And we've managed to locate his brother. He's a philanthropist of some sorts, head of a non profit organization that builds schools in war zones," continued Ryan. "Also, we tracked down the latest phone calls from his cell phone and it turns out he had been speaking to the feds quite often in the last week. We already asked him about what, but he wouldn't budge. He only knew it wasn't about the Westies, but about a bigger drug ring."

"Lanie just confirmed that the man who murdered Coonan is the same man who murdered Anderson." Beckett spoke those words without pause, all in one long, shaky breath and by the last word, she looked spent and exhausted.

Facing the truth, giving voice to it when it hurts like a combat knife thrust between the ribs and deep into your heart, often had that kind of effect.

The two detectives took a long, silent pause and stared at her, then moved their piercing stares to Castle. "Is this some kind of joke?"

The writer shook his head. "Sadly, no. Lanie's sure of it. Coonan was killed by the same hand and weapon as Anderson, and…"

"My mother," snapped Kate, her fingers flexing on the cardboard cup with enough strength to create a small indentation in the pliable material.

"So? What do we do?"

"We find the son of a bitch that dared to touch my mother."

The fire in her eyes burned so much Castle could almost physically feel it on his own skin as she walked to her desk and gathered her file. Her steps echoed in the bullpen, her heels stabbing the wooden floor with a determination he had rarely seen in people who had never been touched by tragedy. She was steel on four inch heels, cold and unbreakable as she prepared herself to question Coonan's girlfriend. He had experienced the same coldness and the same sense of determination as she had interrogated him, weeks prior, right after he had defused the bomb that had made them meet, in the most fortuitous, albeit terrifying, way.

The whole time, Castle observed Beckett as she quickly turned from a steel beam into her more compassionate self. The compassionate self that she had showed him just the day before, while she helped him recover from the panic attack. And that had dragged him out of the precinct when she had noticed he couldn't really take it anymore and that he needed to go home and do something else than dwell in terrible memories.

It hurt him to see her suffer that way. Having grown up without a father, he had always turned to his mother for advice, often unsolicited, he couldn't really think about losing her the way Beckett had lost her own mother. His father was still alive, but the trauma of losing a parent in such a terrible way… no matter if the other parent survived, it left wounds too deep to heal, scars that would always pull and feel tight on cold days.

Coonan's girlfriend gave them the key to a bus station deposit. Full of Johnny Vong's DVDs used to smuggle heroin in the United States.

"Guys, it's time we notify Coonan's brother. Go and pick up our financial miracle worker, we'll speak to this… Richard Coonan," said Beckett once the DVDs had been catalogued and stashed in the evidence room.

In the car, on the way to the still living Coonan's brother, Castle dared to share his thoughts about the case. "I have a theory," he said.

"Let's hear it."

"Trucho's guys make a mistake and send their dealers in Westies' territory. They find out, Rourke sends Coonan to investigate. He finds the culprit, but for some reason is unable to deal with the man. So he sets up a very intricate plan involving the feds and that bunch of heroin smuggled in those cases and that gun he never fired," he explained.

Beckett smiled. "I have to admit, it's a very sound theory coming from someone who first strut in my precinct talking about world domination conspiracies and stuff."

Her cheerfulness managed to infect him too. "I try my best."

"And if this is your best, I like it. It's a very sound theory and I've been thinking about something along these lines too. Now, here we are, let's see what Richard Coonan has to say."

Castle had never seen how people were notified that someone close to them had died, much less someone who had died in a gruesome way such as Jack Coonan. He was usually on the other side of the barricade, he was the one that killed. He was the cause of the pain in those who received the notification. He had always imagined distraught people, clutching their chests as grief suddenly took over them over.

He had always envisioned the loss of a loved one as something that hurt not only emotionally but physically too. Like being shot, or stabbed, or any other wound your body could sustain in battle.

Coonan was everything he had never imagined.

He was cool, restrained, showed no visible sign of even a hint of sadness.

His eyes were dull, emotionless. His face a slab of stone.

His voice, sharp as steel, like the blade of a knife.

And the moment he started speaking, something snapped in Castle, like a tight spring releasing all the accumulated force.

He knew that voice.

He had heard it before, muffled by a ski mask, but he had heard it.

The dark images of a filthy, cold cell flooded his mind, his wrists itched as the zipties dug in his frostbitten skin and the duct tape on his mouth made it difficult to breath as his nose was now pissing blood from all the punches he had just taken.

Against the bright light of a fluorescent tube, the contract killer dressed in a dark arctic BDU designed for extended exposure to extreme cold, tactical vest and leather combat boots hovered over him, rambling about how stupid FOXHOUND had been to send only him to take them all down, that he had been under equipped and outnumbered and that in the end _they_ would in the end win even this round, no matter how hard he tried to thwart their plans.

He remember the glacial cold of the blade that thrust only halfway through his dorsal muscles as it aimed to his left kidney, before he had dug in the last ditch of energy and desperation he had and had managed to break the zip tie and, taking the killer by surprise, subdued him breaking his arm and shattering his knee with one powerful punch to the internal side of the left leg articulation.

 _He didn't die in the explosion then…_

When Coonan stood to bid them goodbye, Castle noticed a slight hitch in the left leg. As if a past injury had come back to torment him.

 _Guess killing your own brother cost you some pain, in the end_.

As they walked out of the pristine office, Castle felt the sudden itch in his palm, for a gun. He briefly considered snatching Beckett's gun from the holster clipped to her belt and finish what he had started six years prior, in Alaska, then his thoughts moved to the blade tucked in his pants, make it more personal and messier.

With a long, cleansing breath though, he pushed all the murderous thoughts out of his brain.

Once in the car, he let go of his self control and repeatedly punched the dashboard, much to Beckett's utter terror.

"What the hell Castle!"

"That man…" he panted. "He's not who he claims to be…"

Beckett lost all color on her face. "What do you mean?"

"I met Dick Coonan, six years ago. He was masked, yes, but I'll never forget his voice and those eyes… dull and heavy, like thick, steel ball bearings used as eyeballs." He shut his eyes when another flashback made him instinctively reach for his gun strapped at the thigh holster he had left at home. "He was on Shadow Moses, back when I was there."

"You mean that…"

"It's him. Dick Coonan, he's our man. He's Rathborne."

* * *

 _Word Count: 14691_


	6. But I'm Still Standing

**Chapter Six - But I'm Still Standing**

"Guys for the umpteenth, I tell you, you don't really want to know what happened on Shadow Moses!"

"Castle, you can't just waltz in and accuse the brother of our victim to be his killer, not to mention her mother's murderer!" snapped Esposito. "Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday, I was a dick and I shouldn't have but… if you met this man before, as the investigators of the case I think we have the right to know what _you_ know."

They had barricaded themselves in the lounge, to keep inappropriate ears from eavesdropping on their conversation. Beckett had barely said a word ever since Castle had confirmed he had recognized the contract killer nicknamed Rathborne in Dick Coonan. She had stormed the bullpen, gathered her team in the room and let Castle do the talking.

Castle sighed, at loss of words. Shadow Moses had been a highly confidential mission, not everything was written in the mission report Ryan had managed to snatch from the database he had cracked. Some details had been willingly left out of the paper, for the very reason that databases were not always so secure as the government tried to tell their citizens.

"Guys… alright." He pulled the file closer to him and opened it at the right page. Just let me explain how FOXHOUND works first. It doesn't exist. If you're in FOXHOUND, you're not part of the US Army anymore, or the Marines or whatever. One of the reasons I started writing books under a pseudonym is exactly this, because from 1993 to 2005, Richard Rogers had ceased to exist. If they need you, they call you. Most of those drafted in FOXHOUND do work as black ops agents for the CIA and are called when in need, and then there are sleeper agents like me. I had another job, and they called me when they needed me. I don't know why they treated me that way, why I wasn't given a desk job or whatever… anyway, they needed someone to do the impossible? They called me."

"That's how usually covert ops work," said Esposito.

"So, one day in 2005, I get called for an emergency mission. Two men in black come to my home and snatch me away. I'm briefed quickly, given an infiltration suit able to withstand the arctic temperatures of January in Alaska, and I'm told to sneak in this base because a group of old members of FOXHOUND recently dismissed have taken residence there."

"Where's _there?_ " asked Ryan.

"A secret military base used to stock nuclear warheads ready to be dismantled in accord with the Strategic Offensive Reductions Treaty. They had basically hijacked the base and they threatened to use one over Washington, if their requests weren't answered."

"What did they want?"

"They wanted Big Boss."

"And who's Big Boss?" asked Esposito.

"A myth," spit out Castle, almost angry at the mention of that name. "Big Boss is said to be the code name of a legendary spy and black ops agent of the Cold War, but he never existed. From what I've heard when I was in there, this… Big Boss is the greatest threat to the organization that as thwarted so many of my missions, but it was all a ruse, something the CIA made up to scare the KGB back in the day. They actually wanted to kill me and blame me for the Washington nuke. They had tried to turn the President in a puppet, but Sears hadn't budged, so they wanted to blame a covert ops gone mad and start a purge of the military and the government to gain even more power. I know, it's over the top, but with these guys it's not even the worst I've seen."

"So, they bribed some of your old colleagues on their side so your boss would send you?" inquired Kate from her spot, tucked in the corner of the couch.

"Exactly. It was considered a suicide mission, given the extreme temperatures, the difficult ways to sneak inside and the people I was up against. They thought they would catch me earlier, but they had to throw everything they had to get to me. And even when they did, Coonan made the mistake of talking too much about how I had always pushed him in the shadows because I was a better agent, how I actually caused his discharge… it allowed me to escape and… well, the mission was a complete success. I stopped them from nuking Washington, saved myself against all odds, killed people I thought were on my side… the usual crap of a day in the black ops."

"And Coonan survived."

"Looks like it. He still limps a little, since I broke his knee." He scratched the inside of his wrist, where he could still feel the zip tie.

"How did they catch you?" asked Esposito.

"A sniper. They had positioned him on the top of a tower right ahead of a narrow passage I was forced to use to move to another side of the base. Narcotic darts, straight in my neck, and I was out for a good hour. I woke in a cell, tied and gagged. Coonan had been instructed to work out everything FOXHOUND knew about their operation and then kill me. I didn't speak though."

"Now that we know this? What do we do?" Ryan didn't look exactly enthusiastic about the whole situation. Not that Castle could blame him. As used to as he was at dealing with normal crimes, all these conspiracies would probably look like an insuperable case to solve.

He wasn't wrong.

"Castle had a theory, in the car, before we questioned Coonan," said Beckett. "I think that if we add Coonan's name to the theory, I guess it works quite good. Jack Coonan is sent to investigate on who started dealing in the Westies territory. Finds out his own brother smuggles heroin in Vong's DVDs but he can't kill his own brother, so he calls the feds and when Dick finds out, he kills Jack."

Castle chuckled. "So much for brotherly love," he murmured. "You know what it means, Beckett?"

He caught a hint of a smile on her lips. "We break Johnny Vong."

* * *

Breaking the fake Laos immigrant with a knack for finance proved to be tougher than they had expected. His fear of Coonan's retaliation was greater than the fear of ten years in prison for drug smuggling and, potentially, fraud.

"What now?"

Beckett was frantically pacing in front of the murderboard, the ticking of her high heels in time with the pulsing of a vein in his temple as the tension crept up from his neck, twisting his head like a torture device.

"By any chance do you have something to ease a headache?" he asked her, for his sake but also hers, as she needed something to distract her.

Beckett stopped pacing immediately and launched herself on her chair, before she opened the small drawer. "You alright?" Her research didn't last long and she produced a pack of Tylenol and handed it to him.

"Just a tension headache, happens." He popped two pills in his mouth and swallowed them dry. "Nothing to worry about. As for what to do now… I'm at a loss. This guy is more scared of Coonan than prison…"

Beckett startled in her seat. "You're right, he's scared of Coonan! What if we release him?"

"Like… as if the guys forgot to read him his rights so the arrest is void?"

She nodded. "Exactly. That way he might be seriously scared that Coonan might even decide to kill him, because it will look like he talked to avoid prison!"

* * *

It worked. Vong sang like the proverbial canary. All the details of his agreement with Coonan, how the contract killer had approached him years before, when he had first launched his financial plan on infomercial, how all the schools he built in war zones were just a front for his drug cartel. The frequent travels to areas like Pakistan and Afghanistan wouldn't look too suspect for a philanthropist that aimed to create new possibilities for children who had nothing but war and famine around them.

It was the perfect cover.

Meanwhile, he kept acting as the favorite killer of the _Patriots,_ as Kate had dubbed them, killing everyone that got against them, for one reason or another.

Vong also confirmed that Coonan was the type that would kill to keep his operation running as smooth as possible, but that he usually asked the services of a contract killer.

So basically he used his original job to scare the people he worked with. Nice tactic.

"That man must have been stinking rich, between the contracts and the drugs," commented Castle when Ryan and Esposito escorted Coonan to the interrogation room.

"Coming from you, that's big."

"Hey, I earned my money in legitimate ways. Being a covert ops agent isn't exactly remunerative."

"Do your mother and daughter know what you've done in the past?"

"Mother yes. You see, I never met my father and… for a long while she's been my only rock. In some ways she still is and… yes, she knows. Alexis, she knows I was in something more peculiar than the usual soldier of the Army, but she doesn't know about my missions."

"You'll tell her, in the future?"

Castle shrugged. "When she's older. She's the best daughter in the world but, you know how teenagers are… I don't want to shock her with something that in the end is now part of my past. What do you want to do with him?"

"I won't mention other murders except for Jack Coonan's. I want him to falter and slip somewhere in his tale. If we can. If not, we'll take out Anderson's and go backwards until we see something."

He took the Shadow Moses file, took out the printout of his detailed profile, with photo and everything, then put it between the folders at the correct date. "This will probably make him tick."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. I highly doubt he's going to recognize me, also. And as much as I firmly believe you can hold your own, I'm not inclined to leave you alone in a room with a man like him."

Beckett smiled. "And they said chivalry was dead."

"My handling officer, and not to mention my mother, would kill me if I let you go in alone."

If Vong had been hard to break, Coonan proved to be a sturdy piece of raw marble. Beckett was a skilled interrogator, Castle had seen her a number of times in the past weeks and she was really good, empathic and more than capable to read the body language of the person she had in front of her, but Coonan was cold as ice covered in teflon. He deflected every trick question, had a sensible answer for all the rest, but temperature was rising and soon Coonan would start sweating bullets.

It was a show that demanded a cold beer and a huge bowl of popcorn.

"Mr. Coonan… We have witnesses. CSU is currently scouring through your apartment and your office. We'll find your ties to the drug cartel. And we're currently examining your bank account. We'll find the payments to the contract killer you paid to have your brother murdered."

"You'll find nothing of the sorts, because there's nothing of the sort."

But Beckett had more cards to play in her deck. She pulled the Anderson's file and let the questioning there. Then back and back again to other cases, all murders attributed to the same hand. "The contract killer exists. And he has been active, recently. We can tie him to an aborted terrorist attack that could have turned New York in the setting of a very bad post apocalyptic movie. If you keep up with the reticence we can tie you to that. And terrorism isn't the best accuse to land with."

Coonan's fingers twitched a little on the table. He didn't like the terrorism charge.

No one would like it, Castle knew the feeling all too well.

"Detective Beckett… you won't find anything because there's nothing to find."

As Beckett moved her hand to the pile of folders to pick up the Shadow Moses file, Castle stopped her. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

"About what?"

"It's your best card. Move back, go for your mother's murder before you try Alaska."

Nothing, he didn't budge.

In the end, Beckett really pulled the Shadow Moses card and Castle saw all the signs that things were about to go down. Good thing he had already slipped his knife up his sleeve. Coonan was getting twitchy and the moment Alaska was mentioned, his leg started bouncing up and down beneath the table. Good thing Coonan hadn't recognized him.

The tension in the room kept creeping up to the point it was almost tangible, they could all feel it.

They were all on edge, and Coonan now felt like a cornered animal that needed to get away from a predator.

His occasion came when a uniform walked in to hand Beckett a parcel of papers, straight from Ryan. Exploiting the momentary distraction, Coonan stood, punched the uniform to the throat for a perfect and silent knockout and stole his gun, which he pointed straight against Castle.

 _Fuck…_

"Now, my dear Detective… Mr. Castle… We're all walking out of this room, nice and easy, and I'm going to walk away."

He grasped Castle by the left arm and pushed the gun against his back, right where his liver could be torn to shreds if he shot him.

 _Nice, a matching scar from the same man. A bullet this time. So cool…_

Grunting in frustration and wrath, Beckett nodded and Coonan pushed him out the door, trying to keep a low profile to not look suspect.

"How did you get your hands on that file?" asked Coonan. "I was told Shadow Moses was confidential."

"You know what happens with technology…" murmured Beckett. "You never know who's going to poke in government databases."

"So that's what happened? A WikiLeaks kind of thing?" He huffed. "No wonder LokSat writes everything on paper."

 _LokSat?_

"I should have known you were trouble, Detective. Like your mother, she just wouldn't let go. And my boss wanted her gone."

In the corner of his eye, Castle could see Beckett's hand shudder towards the holster clipped to her belt.

They were marching down the hallway to the elevator when Montgomery, Esposito and Ryan stopped them in their tracks. "Stop right there where you are!"

"Sir, please… he's got a gun on Castle!"

 _As if it never happened…_ he thought.

"Tell me, Dick…" he started, feeling the cold mouth of the nine millimeter against his back through the fabric of his shirt and jacket. "Do you remember the basics of close quarter combat?"

Coonan suddenly became rigid behind him, giving Castle the perfect window of time to make his move. With more strength than required, he headbutted Coonan on the nose, before moving out of the range of the gun still in the killer's hands. Then he turned towards him and grabbed the gun by the barrel and disassembled it with a flick of his finger, leaving only the frame in Coonan's hand.

With the assassin virtually unarmed and taken by surprise, Castle went from defensive mode to full forward offensive. One quick punch to the already bleeding nose made Coonan stagger backwards against a wall, one open-handed strike to the solar plexus and another powerful blow delivered with the heel of his hand to the groin assured him that Coonan was now completely harmless. The frame of the Sig Sauer fell from his hand as Castle delivered one last devastating kick to the inside of his left knee, breaking it again for good measure.

"How the tables have turned, uh, Rathborne?" he growled as the killer slid on the floor, bloodied and howling in pain from the broken leg, nose and the probably bruised testicles. "After six years, you still talk too much."

And he hadn't even needed to use the knife.

Tears of pain and shame welling in his eyes, Coonan looked up at him in shock. "Snake?"

"In person, asshole!"

He threw the barrel of the gun on the floor, where it rattled like a useless toy, then turned towards the others. Everyone in the precinct had their guns raised and an expression of pure disbelief painted on their faces after his display of skill. "What? It's basic training…"

"Castle, not everyone is a former black ops agent in this room," explained Esposito as he cuffed Coonan. "Army Special Forces and I have never been able to pull that off."

"Castle," started Montgomery. "You and Beckett, in my office. Now. Someone go check on Rodriguez and call an ambulance."

The Captain looked positively furious and both Castle and Beckett couldn't help but walk through the door and into his office holding their head down like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Only their cookie jar was a massive clandestine organization and the cookie was a very dangerous contract killer.

"First, Castle, that was a hell of a display. Great job at disarming the man without killing him. Second, what the hell happened in that room?"

Any way they tried to turn it, Montgomery didn't like the answer.

* * *

 _Word Count:_ _17601_


	7. Motionless

**Chapter Seven - Motionless**

They were all in dire need of a drink. The last couple of days had been intense, for all of them, and the team needed to decompress. Castle happened to know just the right place, and it wasn't just the average cop bar.

"Talk about not the average cop bar!" Espo exclaimed as the writer had them sit on one of the booths in the far end of the place. "How long has this place being around?"

"Way before prohibitionism," he explained. The Old Haunt had been a staple of New York for over a century, a classy place that had seen a lot of shit in its days, its walls held the knowledge of thousands and thousands of secrets. "After I was discharged I found out it was going under and… considering I wrote big chunks of my first few books right here, I loathed the idea of it disappearing from New York, so I bought it."

"So it's yours?" asked Ryan.

Castle nodded. "Yep. I did some refurbishing, some advertisement… and now it's thriving. What can I get you?"

He returned about two minutes later with all their drinks. For a long while, they all remained silent and deeply engrossed in their poison of choice. They had a lot to process, both as a team - although the addition of Castle made the attempt of collective processing a bit harder - and as individuals.

Coonan's arrest had added a lot to the platter, turned their investigation from the inside out, twisted it right at the core. If up to that moment they had been looking for ghosts, ideas, suspect of a paranoid war veteran with an official resume as long as the grocery list of a college student. Now? They were on the hunt of something more palpable.

They even had a name.

"I can't believe we caught Anderson's killer because he murdered his own brother for a drug affair," commented Ryan. "It seems so… petty, in the end."

"Don't tell me, all in one we also got my mother's murderer!"

"And the guy that tried to kill me in Alaska…" added Castle. He took a small sip of his scotch and sighed. "Took him a good while to recognize me, I had to disarm him the same way I did last time."

"Did you look so different at the time?"

He fished in his pocket for his phone and started flicking through the gallery. He had to scroll a bit, but when he found the right picture, he turned the phone towards them. "Roughly like this. Only the sneaking suit was in shreds and covered in mud, the bandana was soaked in blood and the face paint had worn off a little."

The photo came from an Halloween party he had participated a couple of years after Alaska. The invitation from one of Alexis' friends for a big party for the teens as well as the adults had come late and he hadn't had the time to buy a decent costume, so he simply pulled one of his old suits from the back of his closet, one that the military didn't use anymore and he had been allowed to keep, added a couple of props bought at a store the same afternoon and the facepaint, and he was good to go. A perfect Sam Fisher from Tom Clancy's books. Except for the black bandana. That was his out addition to the mix, a quirk he had picked up during the Army training to keep sweat and other liquids out of his eyes.

"Oh look, Sam Fisher!" said Kate, confirming the good job he had done, even four years too late.

Castle smiled. "More or less… what Sam Fisher does in his books isn't too different from what I did in real life. I'm not a fan of his firearm though."

"What gun do you prefer?"

"I'm pretty flexible, but I have a soft spot for the H&K Mark 23 that I have used for a while after it came out, at FOXHOUND we were testing the prototype and I have to say it works wonders in extreme environments. And give me a good old 1911 and I'll be forever happy. It's actually my go-to gun," he explained.

"So I guess the holes you put in your wall the other night are all .45s," joked Beckett.

"They are," he murmured, quite embarrassed.

"Wait what?" snapped Ryan.

"Some nights ago I woke up in the middle of a panic attack… I have issues with paranoia and for the last couple of weeks I've been sleeping with a loaded, silenced gun on the nightstand and… it didn't end well for the wall."

"Man, your PTSD is bad! Ever considered seeing a therapist for it?"

"And tell him what? Guys, you've all seen my file, there's enough on there to make any therapist catch up with my PTSD! Nah, I can deal with it just fine."

"You certainly have seen more shit in one mission than most soldiers see in their whole lives and you seem to hold on through but…" Esposito paused for a moment as he picked at the corner of the label of his beer bottle. "How long do you think you can hold on like this?"

"Why do you think I came to you with those files after the bomb?" he asked. "I saw an opportunity to find out who these men are and what they want and possibly tear them down to pieces, with or without your help. I saw an opportunity for closure, to find out the reason why my hands are covered in so much blood."

Ryan shook his head, a rueful grin twisted his face. "What if we find these people, then? What will you do?"

"I'm not scared of going rogue, if at a certain point you decide to pull back. And I'd be the first to tell you to pull back. This is my battle, not yours."

"Like hell this is your battle. My mother died because Coonan was ordered to kill her by the same guys!" Beckett didn't sound too pleased with his plan for the future. "And by going rogue what do you mean?" she added, her voice filled with even more spite than before. "You have a daughter, you can't go rogue!"

"Beckett has a point…"

"This is so much bigger than me, or my daughter. When I enlisted after college, I swore to serve my country from all threats, and these guys… Coonan called them LokSat… they are more than just the guys that fucked up my missions. Who knows how many times these guys have messed up with the world's affairs. For how long. I know only of their dealings with _my_ missions. And I am supposed to do nothing, when finally I do have the evidence that there's something bigger than just _normal_ fuck ups during black ops missions?" He shook his head. "No, that's not what I enlisted for. I may not be a fan of the war policies the US government have undertaken in the past ten or so years, but… I can't watch as some power-hungry bastard destroys the world with endless wars. I can't just remain motionless because… because I'm too scared of a ghost. That's not how I work."

He took a long pause and downed his drink in one single gulp. The strong spirit burned his tongue and throat. "Have you noticed how small-scale conflicts have multiplied ever since the end of World War II?" he asked them.

"There have always been small scale conflicts, Castle, it's human nature, we destroy each other," added Ryan.

"I know, but think about it. After World War II, we've had all these teeny tiny wars, all over the world. I'm not counting Korea and Vietnam, those were full blown conflicts, I mean things like everything that has happened in South America, and we know that there's the CIA behind many of those military coups. Then we've had the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. The Lead Years in Italy… Munich… all the tribal wars in Africa, the Falklands… and guess who always had a personal profit from all this instability?"

"CIA?" proposed Beckett.

"I told you, you wish it was CIA. They don't send US Colonels in battle dress to foreign battlefields to discuss genocidal plans."

Ryan seemed interested. "Clarify please."

The question he had dreaded ever since he had explained them about Alaska.

"We'll need more booze for that." He stood up and walked behind the bar.

Samuel, the barman on duty that evening, smiled as he moved to let him pass. "Having a good night, Mr. Castle?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, good friends, good drinks, good talking… definitely a good night. How about you?" he asked, picking the bottle of Scotch and three more beers.

"Same old. Got a couple of numbers from two very hot chicks, again…"

"Ah, I doubt Seth will be happy about it."

"At this point, he collects them. He has a nice sense of humor, in the end."

Castle patted the young man on the shoulder. "Good for you. Now, it's probably going to be a long night for us, if we're still here when it's closing time, I'll close up shop, OK?"

"Sure boss."

He shuddered. He hated being called _boss_. He was nobody's boss, he was barely his own boss, considering how his agent and publisher loved to push him around so he would write more books and faster. "Have a good night Sam."

When he returned to the booth, he set the drinks down. "If Alaska wasn't a nice tale, this is even worse. You remember in the middle of the nineties, the war in the Balkans?" They nodded. "Well, there were a lot of NATO troops deployed all over the area, as well as undercover agents from Intelligence agencies all over the world, to keep things under closer surveillance. Those agents reported rumors of someone planning on killing as many Muslims they could. Someone in the high hierarchy of the army and a paramilitary group were planning an ethnic cleansing, they wanted to wipe out all the Bosniak muslims they could."

"And you were sent there to prevent it."

"And the hacker in angel's clothing is right, that's _Operation Intrude N313_. The moment I set foot there though, I knew they were way ahead with their plans than what intel let us understand. They had already gathered a large number of people, I saw the busses running up and down the area, all packed with people, all male, and… I was left with only one way to stop it, I had to kill General Mladic. It may have not prevented it completely, but if I took out the man giving orders, maybe I'd have time to gather more intel to present to NATO and make things happen the legal way, you know..."

Beckett nodded. "I remember seeing things on TV when I was in high school, but we only got very vague expositions at the end of the news so things are a little fuzzy in my memory."

Esposito chuckled. "There's not much to say. Soviet block crumbles, people claim their cultural heritage after being compressed in huge state composed of a number of nationalities, and each of those nationalities want their own nation to be independent. War ensues. Slovenia manages to hold its own and in twelve days they manage to become independent and be recognized as so. The rest? Not so much."

"Those were three bloody years," added Ryan. "Then came Kosovo and Albania… the nineties were a bloodbath."

"It happens, when something like the Soviet Union breaks apart. Anyway… I manage to infiltrate in their headquarter, a bombed school they were using just because it still had a roof… I was hiding beneath a broken jeep, waiting for the sun to go down so I could move better as they didn't have many portable lights and at a certain point I hear a vehicle come down the dirt road. Mladic comes out of the school and welcomes the newcomer. Like they're friends, or at least partners in business."

"Did you recognize him?"

"That's the problem, I didn't recognize him at the time, but I could see that he was wearing a total black battle dress uniform, which is weird on its own, with the grades of an American Army colonel well displayed on his chest. They spoke, in Serb, for a long while. I report it via radio… and suddenly I'm ordered to pull out. The moment I report the presence of this man, I'm forced to pull out or be put on martial court for treason. And I did, I…" He poured himself another good dose of scotch and downed it, like the proverbial liquid courage. "I ran. The arrival of that guy moved all security around him and Mladic so I could safely run away from the compound."

"What happened next?"

"I was ordered to go to the nearest extraction zone and I did. It was roughly six hundred meters from the school and… they started shooting around thirty minutes later. All the men and children I had seen, lined up, shot down like infected cattle." He closed his fists on the table, as if to strangle someone. "All because I was ordered to pull out. I had Mladic already in my sights, I was ready to pull the trigger and… someone high up decided the lives of more than eight thousand men and children were a good price to pay for… something."

"And that something would be?"

Sighing, he slouched on the padded bench, flipping the tumbler in his hand. "I have a theory but… it's far fetched and kind of dumb."

"Let us hear it," added Ryan.

"Drugs. In the end… it all goes down to that. Drugs make people rich and being rich makes you powerful, almost immune to the law, if you play your cards right. By controlling the conflicts around the world, they keep certain routes open or closed, at their wish. When the demand for cocaine is high, they make their moves in South America to open up new routes and ensure a steady supply. Need for heroine overcomes coke? Wars in the Middle East and Afghanistan open the road there. Need a trusty intermediary? Make a mess in Italy, so the Mafia down there can smuggle cargo easily to the families here. With their constant flow of drugs, money is almost infinite and with money, as I said, comes power."

"With power come more opportunities to influence politics. I wouldn't be so baffled if these guys dwelled in the black marked of weapons and intelligence."

"Good call, Beckett."

"So? What do we do? We follow the drug?" asked Esposito.

"Seems like a good idea," she replied. "But… Castle, can I ask you something about Alaska?"

Castle shrugged. "At this point, I'm willing to tell you how many times I stunned a guard so I could take a leak in their restrooms and not in my pants."

The three detectives stared at him as if he was made of gold. "What? It's normal! Come on, Espo, don't tell me you never peed in your pants because you couldn't leave your sniping point!"

Espo suddenly averted his gaze. "Guilty as charged."

"So, what did you want to ask?"

Beckett took a deep breath. "Coonan… after you had disarmed him, he called you _Snake._ Why?"

"It was my codename. Venom Snake, to be fair."

"Isn't it a bit of a tautology?"

"Not all snakes are venomous. I have to say, my first real codename was Solid Snake. We changed it after my first mission. My handlers couldn't stop giggling when they called me via radio. At some point I might have responded something in the lines of _you might as well call me erect cock_ and the whole team started laughing in the microphone."

Beckett giggled. "Well, you have to admit it's kind of funny."

"Yeah, but in the end no one has ever called me Solid Snake. Or Venom Snake. It was either Snake or _the idealistic idiot_. They tried to transfer my original codename to another guy, someone younger, back in 2001. Didn't work for him as well."

"He didn't live up to the original?"

"No, absolutely, he was great. Jack was, and still is from what I know, one of the best black ops agents FOXHOUND ever had in its ranks. It just didn't fit. He was one of the first few agents to be equipped with the optic camouflage that rendered him nearly invisible and that made him really fast at infiltrating. So they just changed the codename from Solid Snake to Raiden."

"Isn't that Japanese for Lightning?" asked Ryan.

"Ten points to Ryan. Exactly. I have to say, he kinda looked like a character from an anime, tall, slender, blonde and blue eyed, almost feminine in the physique but a damn good fighter, I tell you. And with the optic camo… he was great. Still is, I hope. Last I heard, he had a kid on the way."

"Black ops agents with kids…" mused Esposito. "How do you even even make it work?"

"Having someone to come home to makes you fight harder to get out in one piece."

* * *

The rest of the night went on on a lighter atmosphere, with happier chat and more laughter. The team of cops let Castle in some of their best cases from the past couple of years, like the psycho with a fixation for Beckett that challenged her to solve a streak of murders and nearly blew her up with her apartment. Or that other time they had to investigate the murder of someone who looked like a CIA spy but turned out to be the participant of a highly immersive roleplay game.

Castle, a little high after the fifth scotch, felt a burst of hilarity course through him as they talked. He had almost forgot how it felt to be out for drinks with people he could consider friends, and it felt good. To avoid the nasty effects of hangover on the job though, they all switched to soft drinks after a while, yet the happy vibe still hung upon them.

"And then what? A copycat killer of my books?"

"We've had it!"

"Oh no you didn't!" snapped Castle. "And you didn't call me?"

"Call you for what? We solved it in like… three days?" added Ryan. "Beckett here, she has encyclopedic knowledge of your works! She noticed all the details the killer got wrong and that led us to the real killer. Boom, case solved, paperwork done and I'm out with my girlfriend for the weekend!"

"Which books did the guy pick?"

" _Hell Hath No Fury, Flowers For Your Grave_ and _Death Of A Prom Queen_ ," replied Kate.

Castle cringed. "Oh my god my worst books!"

"Oh come on Castle they're not that bad," she reassured him. "Just a little… over the top?"

"A little?" he cried. "I wrote them all while deployed in Kuwait between a guard shift and patrol duty, no research, no editing, no nothing! They suck!"

"I've read worse. I mean, they are not Patricia Cornwell's _The Body Farm_ , but they're not that bad."

"Still, crappy books. Storm's books are way better."

Esposito nodded. "I can vouch for that. I'm not a fan of thrillers and those books are good. Tell me, how much of yourself have you poured into Derrick?"

Castle scratched his chin, the stubble itching a little, as he thought. "Well, not much to be honest. The gadgets, yes. Most of them come straight from my old days in FOXHOUND, minus the optic camo because that's a military secret that cannot be divulged. Let's say that Derrick is the agent I've always wanted to be. The one that saves people, the valiant soldier that saves the princess. Everything I've always aspired to be but I never had the chance to."

"Sort of expiation for your sins?"

"Sort of. I just… I just needed a happy ending after all those botched missions, you know?"

"You really think all those people have been killed because of you?"

Castle nodded. "Yes. Because if I had been quicker, or if I'd have the guts to defy orders and work for the greater good instead of saving my own skin, thousands of people would be still alive now."

"Castle, you didn't pull the trigger."

"No, I _didn't_ pull it. That's the point. If I had… things may be different today. I still hear the gunfire, late at night, when everything is silent. In the back of my head, I'm always in the woods waiting for the extraction helicopter. Every time I walk close to Central Park after it rained, I the scent of the wet grass and mud mixes with blood. I can't let those memories go, no matter how hard I try. I can't let those people go. In my books though, I can save them. In my books, they're alive, I can rewrite the ending as I please."

"Your books are your therapy," muttered Beckett.

"As much as becoming a cop was yours."

* * *

Around midnight, they were ready to go home. Sam, the bartender, was already closing and they decided to call it a night.

The brisk air of winter in New York felt like a slap on his face when Castle set foot outside the bar.

"Going home, Castle?" asked Beckett.

"I was thinking of going for a walk before going home. Clear my head, you know. I'd hate to be caught by my daughter or mother in this state, I mean… I'm still a little drunk and they don't exactly like me when I'm drunk. I get moody."

"Why don't you crash at my place? It's closer, the couch is comfortable and I won't judge you for your slight state of intoxication. Nor will I judge your moodiness. And I keep all my guns in a locked safe, so there's no risk to blow holes in my walls if you wake up during a panic attack."

"You're tempting me Kate, but only if you allow me to offer you a full breakfast tomorrow."

Smiling wide, she shrugged. "Coffee and a bearclaw are more than enough, Castle, I'll be fine with it. Come on, it's getting late and usually bodies drop at ungodly hours."

They had been working together for a month. Never in his life he would have imagined that kind of invitation from her. He accepted, glad to have an alternative to the inevitable walk of shame at home.

But the surprises didn't end there. Beckett was tired, it had been a stressful couple of days. The emotional storm of having to handle her mother's murder, all the risky moves they had pulled, the crisis in the interrogation room… they all took a toll on her, as well as him. And the five pints of beer she had downed like a pro? Those were just the icing to the cake, he could see she was exhausted and in dire need to lay her head on a pillow and sleep for twelve hours straight.

She had sat one moment on the couch to rest a moment before giving him what he needed to crash on her couch, and she fell asleep mid sentence. She was explaining to him where the bathroom was, closed her eyes for the briefest second, and suddenly she wasn't talking anymore, completely taken over by the need to rest.

Shaking his head in surprise, Castle did the only thing he thought was right. He gently picked her up from the couch and walked down the corridor to her bedroom, then he lay her on the bed. Struggling not to wake her, he pulled her boots off, then her tight jeans. He wondered if she'd be angry if he pulled her shirt off too - no one would sleep well wearing a tight, crumpled shirt - until he noticed she had a tank top beneath. He dared to at least unbutton it so she'd be free to move in her sleep, then he tucked her in.

It felt like taking Alexis to bed all over again, only this time he wasn't handling the sweetest girl in the world who wouldn't wake even if someone shot a cannon blast beside her ear. This was Detective Katherine Beckett, badass down to her very core, the woman who soldiered on and didn't give in and never accepted anything but the truth. The detective that wouldn't believe him but accepted him in her precinct anyway, allowed him to express his crazy conspiracy theories that, in the end, turned out to be true.

The only person able to help him through one of the worst panic attacks he'd had in years, asking no questions unless he wanted to talk. And if he didn't want to talk, she'd simply change subject.

A wingless angel with a gun.

Sighing, he stood up and turned to walk out of her room, let her sleep the efforts of the day in peace, when she grabbed his wrist and pulled, gently.

"Bed is more comfortable," she mumbled, half asleep. "You can stay."

"You sure?"

She nodded. "It's big enough for two, I'm sure we can respect each other's space."

Next morning, when they woke up with Kate snuggled into his chest, her cheek resting over his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her back to keep her even closer, they laughed like teens, surprised at their own unconscious bravado.

That was a good way to start the day.

* * *

 _Word count: 21877_


	8. Far In The Distance There Is Light

**Chapter Eight - Far In The Distance There Is Light**

The drug trail proved to be a good one.

During the next week, between interrogating Coonan and scouring his bank accounts, they managed to get a couple of good leads on the heroin trade that promised to deliver some good news.

Only problem was the lack of cooperation from the former contract killer. He just wouldn't talk. They couldn't pull a single word out of him, even when the DA pulled out the collaboration card; the names of his bosses in exchange for a more lenient sentence.

Coonan wouldn't budge.

When news of his sudden death by hanging in his cell reached the bullpen, about ten days after his arrest, no one was surprised. Nor they were surprised when the ME confirmed that it wasn't a suicide, but a petty attempt to mask a murder with a suicide.

They actually looked at each other and their only comment was a collective shrug of their shoulders.

One more tally for LokSat.

The day after Coonan was found dead, Castle had decided to stay home and write something, as the inspiration seemed to have struck. Also, Beckett had the day off and there were no leads to follow, at that point, so his presence wasn't needed at the precinct.

Until Kate Beckett appeared on his doorstep, her face ashen and her eyes wide with fear. "Castle… I need your help."

"What's going on?" He led her in, took her coat then guided her to the kitchen isle. "You're scared, what happened?"

"Someone called me, about half an hour ago." He put a mug of fresh coffee in front of her, if not to drink to give her something to hold on to. "It was John Raglan, the detective in charge of my mother's case."

"What did he want?"

"He said… he said he wants to talk about her case, that he has to take a weight off his shoulders. I don't like it one bit."

"Timing is seriously screwed, I'll give you that. Did you agree to meet him?"

Beckett nodded. "Yes, in a coffee shop not too far from here, in twenty minutes."

"Want me to come with you?"

She nodded again. "Would you mind? If you have stuff to do, I'll go alone."

"Don't even mention it. Just let me get my weapon and…"

"Castle, there's no need to come armed!"

He didn't listen. He trotted to his bedroom, opened the safe and grabbed one of his .45s, the correct silencer, a spare magazine and the belt holster. When he returned to the kitchen, Kate didn't look too happy to see the little arsenal in his hands.

"There's no need. And do you even have a concealed carry permit?"

"Yes and yes. First of all, this guy comes out ten days after we arrest Coonan and tie him to your mother's murder and LokSat, saying he wants to take off some weight of his shoulders. To me, it sounds like a trap. And excuse the war vet paranoia, but I like to be prepared."

"Sound suppressors are illegal in New York."

He sighed and unscrewed the appendage from the gun. "Happy now?"

"Only if you show me your concealed carry permit."

Castle took his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the concealed carry permit. She inspected it carefully then handed it back. "How did a writer get a concealed permit? What reason did you put on the module?"

"Back in 2009 I was looking into opening a Private Investigation agency, just to do something between a novel and the other. I did all the steps, I even have the PI licence, but then… nothing happened, I still have the licence and it was enough. Also, it helps when you have a shiny military record in your pocket, couple with an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart."

"There's no way I'll convince you to leave the gun home, right?"

Castle nodded. "Nope, I'm coming armed."

* * *

John Raglan had chosen one of those diners still run by families that served only simple cups of coffee and the traditional diner foods. The now retired detective sat at one of the booths, hands clasped on the table in front of him as if he was praying. He was pale, his beard spotty and unkempt, a general appearance of poor health surrounded him.

 _This doesn't look good._

They sat at the table. "Detective Raglan…" she greeted him, voice cold as steel.

"I said no cops…" he growled.

"Castle's someone I trust. So, I'm here. What did you want to tell me?"

The detective grabbed a white mug of steaming coffee and inhaled the fragrant vapor. "I have cancer."

 _You and millions of other americans_ , thought Castle.

"So? You're here to confess your sins?"

"Sort of. You see… I came here for your mother."

"I had gathered that."

Beckett was looking at the older detective with a killer glare. She looked like a marble statue, barely moving as she breathed.

"Listen lady, I came here to tell you something important. You could at least try to look more sympathetic."

She didn't budge. Castle could almost feel the tension vibrating from her body, almost electrical. She was clearly scared, but also she wanted to know what Raglan had to tell her. The detective couldn't really pick a worse moment to come forward with details on her mother's case.

If only Raglan had chosen a better protected place...

He didn't like it. It wasn't defendable, they were in open view… maybe Raglan thought that being among so many people would protect them in case of… something, but Castle had seen this tactic fail multiple times in the years. He wasn't really a fan of big windows.

"Listen, Detective Raglan… We're in the middle of a very taxing case. If you could please explain us what you want, we'd be very happy."

Raglan wiped the sweat from his brow and chuckled. "Alright. What happened to your mother… it happened because of something I did nineteen years ago."

"Nineteen?"

"Listen, I'm not a saint. I've never been, and I've done some questionable things in my career, including what caused your mother's death."

"Did you call the hit on her?"

Raglan jumped in his seat, coffee spilling from the mug in his hand. "What? No! I didn't call any hit! No, it's something me and two other guys did… we…"

The red blip on the dark coat sent a jolt of adrenaline rushing through his veins, time seemed to slow down by a tenfold as he sprung in action. Way before they could hear a sound, Castle was already on her, covering her body with his own. Then they heard the soft sound of glass breaking and the sickening thud of a body being pierced by a high speed bullet.

A spurt of blood splashed over her white blouse. "Are you hurt?" he gasped as they both reached for their guns.

"It's not my blood Castle!" she yelled above the panicked screams of the scared customers around them.

He turned towards the window and looked at the building in front of them. He caught a glimpse of someone moving in one of the windows of the fifth floor and immediately pulled his gun from the holster. It was an impossible shot, but he could always try. "Beckett I have the shooter, permission to fire?"

She was checking on Raglan. "Negative Castle, don't shoot."

 _Damn it!_

She pulled the radio from her belt and immediately called for reinforcements and an ambulance, but moments later, as Raglan exhaled his last breath, she was forced to call back and renounce to the EMT. It was now a homicide.

* * *

When they were finally able to go away from the crime scene, Castle noticed how Beckett was visibly shocked. She was fidgety, talked in a clipped tone he was used to relate to the moments following an upsetting event. When she entered the car, the first thing she did was grasp the wheel and lean against it, as if to hide. Her knuckles turned white and he heard the joints crack. Suddenly, her breathing hitched, a long, mewling sob escaped her throat.

"Beckett you alright?"

She was hyperventilating.

"Hey, don't worry… let it go Kate…" he murmured. Gently, he pried her fingers from the wheel and pushed her back against the seat. Then he pulled the handle that regulated the length of the seat and pulled it back so she had more room. "It's alright, it's just a panic attack." He managed to pull the keys out of the pocket of her jacket so he could turn on the car and pull down the window. She needed fresh air, or at least as fresh as it could be in Manhattan. "Let it go…"

"Can't… can't breathe…" she gasped.

"Yes you can, come on, in and out." He pulled the zipper down and tugged the collar of her wool blouse, so she wouldn't feel the constriction of the turtleneck collar against her throat. "Breathe with me, in!" He inhaled deeply, trying to make as much noise as he could to be heard above her gasps. "And out! Again, come on. In… and out."

It took her a couple of minutes of guidance but she managed to catch a normal rhythm and calm down. "Feel better?" Kate nodded weakly. "Want me to drive?" Another nod.

They exchanged places and they silently drove to the precinct. By that time, Kate had regained her composure and looked a lot better, except for the bloodshot eyes and the red stain over her shirt. "Feel up to it?"

"Whether or not, I must go and start investigating. I man died right in front of my eyes, I owe him at least this."

* * *

Somehow they ended up tying the now defunct John Raglan to well known Washington Heights drug lord, Vulcan Simmons. In the end, Castle's theory about drug smuggling seemed to be the right one.

The hulking man in a cinnamon suit and stark white shirt and tie seemed extremely at ease, even as a suspect. He smiled, throughout the whole interrogation, laid back on the chair as if he was having a nice chat with an old friend. Despite all the taunting Kate threw at him, every connection they were able to make… he was a rubber wall. Everything bounced off him. He was even worse than Coonan to interrogate. At least he remained silent, or deflected the questions with coldness, never with sarcasm.

And sarcasm wasn't something Beckett was ready to take that day, nor did she need a suspect that wouldn't concentrate on her when she spoke. Simmons seemed intrigued by Castle, his eyes often darting from Beckett to him, as if curious. He knew he wasn't a cop. He wasn't dressed as one - the black t-shirt and unbuttoned plaid shirt certainly gave it away - but in the drug lord's eyes Castle saw something else. As if he _knew_ him.

The moment Simmons mentioned her mother, implying he had been the one to order the hit as she had been dabbling in the wrong affairs in the wrong place, Beckett went totally berserk. Before Castle could react, she pushed the table away from her and grabbed Simmons by the lapels of his crisp, tailored jacket to push him against the two way mirror with such a strength she made it crack.

And Simmons kept laughing at her.

No wonder she had just snapped.

It took the combined intervention of himself, Esposito and Ryan to pull her away from Simmons.

That cost her the case. Montgomery ordered her to go home. She fought it, but was forced to obey her superior, when threatened with an official reprimand for insubordination.

Even Castle got his own dose of scolding, for pulling out a gun in the middle of a crowded diner. And was sent home too.

But instead of going home to get bored out of his mind, he simply slipped in Beckett's passenger car a moment before she ignited the engine.

"What the hell are you doing Castle?"

"Coming with you." He pulled a file from beneath his t-shirt. "Ryan and Esposito are going to look into the sniper that killed Raglan. You and I? We're going to look into your mom's case."

"You think I haven't memorized every line in that file?"

"I didn't mean _her_ case. I mean the case was working on when she was murdered. The mobster convicted for that fed's murder."

* * *

They arrived at her place remaining silent for the whole trip. Up the stairs, Castle heard her growl in frustration, a barely there sound that perfectly depicted the contrasts she had been going through that day. It had started with an unexpected call from someone Beckett clearly despised for the awful conduct he had maintained during the investigation on Johanna Beckett's murder. Then the meeting had turned into a murder itself. Being taunted that way by Vulcan Simmons and subsequently removed from the investigation had just been the shitty icing to very bad cake.

"Want some coffee?" she asked once inside the apartment.

"No thank you, I'm fine. But if you want it, go for it." He sat on the couch and pulled the holster from the belt and put his gun on the coffee table, beside hers.

Once the coffee was ready, mug in hand, Kate joined him on the couch and pulled a couple of boxes from beneath it. "Everything about the FBI agent is in this box, what isn't on my murderboard about my mother is in here."

"You have a murderboard?" She pointed at the window at his right. He stood and opened it. "Wow!"

"It's not much since there was never much to work on."

"Well, at least is organized." He sat again beside her. "What do we have here?"

Castle opened one of the box and pulled out some files. At the bottom of the cardboard container, he found a folder with a bunch of old photographs. They had been taken around Christmas time, probably right before she had been murdered. He smiled as she ran through the small pile, tiny flashes of a life Kate had abandoned. "Your mom took these, right?"

She threw a quick glance in his direction. "Oh, yes. Couple of weeks before she died."

"You like ice-skating?"

"Haven't done it in years but yes, I used to like it a lot."

"Alexis loves it, we go every year, at the Rockefeller center. Want to come with us?"

"Castle, it's barely March!"

He chuckled. "Well, it's something to look forward to, isn't it? I like to plan ahead with a certain degree of flexibility, it's an habit I picked when I was still an active member of FoXHOUND. We don't have to set a date now, just have a vague impression of something we may or may not want to do when the time comes."

Biting her lower lip, she smiled. "Alright Castle… we'll see when the time comes."

Castle was still fumbling with the pictures when he noticed four photos were missing. There were only twenty photos, when back then rolls had either twenty four or thirty six expositions. He checked the negatives and found them, but they didn't match the rest of the photos.

"Kate… look at this."

Kate scanned the negatives in her computer and inverted the colors. "Castle…" she gasped. "This is the place where my mom was killed."

"But why would she take pictures of that place weeks before her murder?"

Frowning, she didn't reply at first, instead she reached for the file he had snatched from the precinct the one of the fed's murder. It wasn't a complete file, just something Esposito had grabbed from the database and printed in record time, but it had the address of the scene of the crime.

"Castle, it's the same place. My mother was killed in the same alley!"

"Washington Heights?"

She shook her head. "No… not Washington Heights, that's why Vulcan Simmons was never a suspect."

"You said your mother was working with the mobster convicted for that murder, right?" Kate nodded. "Is he still alive?"

"From what I know, he is."

He looked at his watch and sighed. "Do we have time for a quick visit?"

Beckett nodded. "You know Castle, this might be best thing of the day."

"What? Going to Rykers to question a mobster about a murder that happened nineteen years ago?" he asked, picking up his gun again.

"No. Your help."

"You'll buy me a beer when this thing is over. Right now, let's go. I really want to know if Simmons is behind this, because if he is…"

"Your theory about the drug trafficking as the background of LokSat operations will be the first true lead you have in years," she completed the sentence for him. "Come on, let's tie some loose ends."

* * *

When they walked in the visit area and headed towards Joe Pulgatti, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. He seemed a quiet, mild-mannered man, not the ruthless mobster his file depicted.

He talked quietly, voice clear and, despite having claimed his innocence for so many years he didn't seem to harbor animosity towards cops in general, like many other criminals. He spoke to them, explained his reasons, gave them his account of the night.

"So you're saying that there were three men in ski masks trying to kidnap Bob Armen, and that the shot that killed him came from one of their guns?" asked Castle.

Pulgatti nodded, slowly. "Yes. That's exactly what happened. We had a hangout at the time in that alley, and rumor had it that a bunch of cops at the time were kidnapping known mobsters, roughhoused them and then released them the moment their bosses paid a hefty sum for their release."

"Cops? If they were wearing ski masks, how can you be sure they were cops?"

"Because I spoke to people that had gone through their treatment. And I've seen them, heard them when they were trying to kidnap that fed."

"Could it be any of those cops that called the hit?"

The former mobster shrugged. "I have no idea, but they surely got a lot of money out of those kidnappings, they could afford it."

"One last thing, Mr. Pulgatti," said Castle. "Who was the detective in charge of your arrest?"

"John Raglan."

* * *

 _Word count:_ _24951_


	9. A Light That Burns These Scars Of Old

**Chapter Nine - A Light That Burns These Scars Of Old**

Raglan. It was the common denominator of that terrible mess that was their investigation.

On the way back from Ryker's, Castle's mind was a boiling pot of theories and he was pretty sure that Beckett's was going through the same process.

"In the end it all goes back to Raglan," she stated, voicing her thoughts after a long moment of silence.

"I have a theory," he replied.

"So do I, let's hear yours first though."

"Raglan, McAllister and a third cop decide they have had enough of criminals and start dealing with them their own way, making some money on the side. But one day something goes wrong and Bob Armen is killed. They managed to get away with it by tampering with the investigation and Raglan arresting Pulgatti. Perfect scapegoat, it's his words against Raglan's, mobster versus cop."

Beckett kept nodding as he spoke. "And then when my mother starts investigating, they fear she's going to find out their shady dealings and use the money they _earned_ with the extortions to order the hit on her."

"Exactly what I was thinking. I guess we need to question McAllister again."

Beckett's phone beeped. It was Ryan. "Hey Kev, everything alright?"

"Beckett, we were looking into the sniper and we found a name, but it seems like this guy appeared only two years ago," Ryan's voice chirped through the loudspeaker. "Considering how Castle seems to know everyone in the world and then some, we figured we could ask him if he knew a certain Hal Lockwood or anyone that may have used that pseudonym in the past."

Castle shrugged. "No, he doesn't. Do you have a picture?"

"It's in your Inbox."

Castle promptly took the phone from her grasp so she could drive safely and fiddled with it until he managed to open the attached DMV photo. "Nope, never seen this guy. You think he's tied to the shooting?"

"We found his print on a witness and… too long to explain, we're sure it's our guy. I mean, his identity is fake!"

"And fake identities usually mean nothing good. Anything else?"

"We've gone to his latest address and found a bunch of creepy things. From surveillance pictures of you Beckett to enough anti-anxiety pills to stop the tremors of dozens of snipers," said Esposito.

Beckett sighed. "He's definitely our guy. Got anything else?"

"We traced the pills to a custom drug dealer, unis are bringing him in for questioning right now."

"Great job guys… now, to me a favor, call Gary McAllister and ask him to come to the precinct as soon as possible. We need to question him again."

"You're still off the case, Montgomery has requested a protective detail for you!"

"I have a Purple Heart decorated war vet who can hold his own against a contract killer right here with me, he's armed and ready to shoot if required. That's the protective detail I need right now."

Castle pushed a hand against his mouth to muffle the burst of laughter that made him quake on the seat. "Well, he wants someone else too."

She shook her head. "Tell him I don't need them. I've got my gun and Castle's better than a trained pit bull, I'll be just fine."

She grabbed the phone from his hand and closed the call.

"Better than a trained pit bull?" he inquired. "You know that pit bulls aren't inherently dangerous, they're just extremely loyal and act the way their owner wants to?"

"I know. That's why I said you're better than a trained pit bull. You could have shot the sniper this morning, instead you asked me if you could. Not many people would have done that."

"We're accounted for every bullet we fire, just like you guys. I was trained to wait for a direct order before shooting, that's just how I work."

"And I like how you work," she replied, patting his thigh. "I have to be honest here, I'm starting to like you too."

"Woah that's big Detective!"

"Yeah well, you've come a long way from the guy that barged in my precinct with my coffee and a stack of papers he guaranteed was the evidence of a worldwide conspiracy."

* * *

McAllister proved to be way more cooperative once forced to see how they had hacked through the web of lies he, Raglan and the third, still unknown cop had weaved for years. The now retired cop spoke as if he was some kind of Messiah, as if what he had done wasn't against the law. As if they had been right all along.

He spoke of _instilling some fear of God into them_ , at least for a while.

Then he started rambling about a dragon, someone that has become extremely powerful when he forced them to turn in all their ransom money or he'd turn them in to the police, ruining them. He was the one that ordered the hit on Johanna Beckett. And he was so powerful that he could anything, lawful or not, to keep that power all in his hands.

"You think he's talking about LokSat?" asked Beckett while she and Castle waited for the coffee to be brewed.

He folded his arms across his chest. "I… I don't know. Maybe but… threatening cops on the verge of retirement to turn them in, in exchange for money? That's not how they work."

"That's not how they work in _your experience_. You admitted it yourself, you have only limited knowledge about how far their tentacles go, for all you know, they may operate in different ways depending on who they are facing."

She had a point.

"Fair enough. Can I ask you something?"

She poured two mugs of coffee and handed him one of them. "Sure."

"How can you be so calm? That sniper had surveillance photos of you, he's clearly out for your blood. How can you be so… relaxed?"

"I'm not. You saw me this morning, the panic attack… I'm just waiting for something to trigger another one. I'm not calm, I'm collected. I'm holding myself together by sheer will, and at one point, it won't be enough. So the sooner we find this guy, the better I'll feel."

Castle chuckled. "I hear ya…" He added the creamer to his coffee and stirred it with the flimsy wooden stick, he watched the dark liquid turn a lighter shade of brown in a whirlwind and couldn't help but compare his life to that little pool of coffee in front of his eyes, the darkness of his black ops agent days mixed with the light from his later days as father and writer. "You know… sometimes, when I zone off… I can't help but think that this is all a dream."

"What is?"

"Everything that happened to me. Sometimes I just feel like… I'm just a big dream. I think my subconscious is trying to mask the memories, turn them into something more… distant, like a dream. Sometimes I can't distinguish between what I actually saw and what I dreamed. It's all mixed up and…"

"No need to explain, Castle. I think I can understand what you mean."

"Actually, I need to explain. Voicing my thoughts to someone helps me calm down a little, when I'm tensed."

"Oh…" She stirred her own coffee as if to hide some embarrassment. "Alright, go on. I'm listening."

"You see… when you're down on the battlefield, if mind-conditioning worked on your brain, you get into a bubble and everything you can think of is completing your mission and getting to the extraction zone alive. Afterwards, if you make it out in one piece, it's difficult to remember the details, sometimes for a long while. I managed to give my statement about the operation in Somalia only five days after I had been hauled over to the US. And even when you start to remember, some details remain blurry all your life."

"Like the details of a dream."

"Yeah," he convened. "And now… it feels like I'm back in that dream. Better, like that dream never ended."

"Well… it makes sense. Your mind is trying to protect itself and it blurs the edges."

Castle was thinking about a reply, but Ryan appeared on the doorstep. "We have a lead and we need your help to follow it."

Esposito and Ryan had managed to tear a name from the dealer and a possible residence, only it lead them to two names. They split in two and each group picked a name and went to check on which girl was the one that regularly purchased the anti-anxiety drug from the dealer.

"You think Lockwood took the drug to steady his hand?" asked Beckett when they reached the place.

"Definitely. Maybe he's not a trained marksman, but when it's required, he uses this trick to do a better job."

When Beckett forcefully knocked on the right door, they received no answer. She knocked again, to no avail. With one hand on the handle of her gun, she tried to open the door. It was open, so she extracted the gun and entered the apartment.

It was dark, the curtains were all shut and the place was immersed in silence. "She might be still at work," said Castle.

"Maybe, but…"

When they set foot in the living room, they realized she wasn't still at work. Because she was lying on the floor, her throat marred by the signs of strangulation with a rope. They had found the right girl.

Beckett immediately alerted dispatch and called reinforcement, then she phone Esposito. "Guys, we've found or girl dead in her apartment. You?"

"We were about to call you, we didn't find anything and…"

Castle heard the loud bang even if the call wasn't on loudspeaker. It was a very distinct noise he had heard before. "Beckett that's a flashbang going off!"

She tried to call Espo a couple of times, but the call was lost. "What the fuck just happened?"

* * *

They scrambled to find a way to trace Jolene Granger's phone. By very simple deduction, they could say Lockwood had tracked Granger down, killed her to get the pills and took the phone in order to mask any ties with her. Astute, but not enough. With a little help from the precinct, they had managed to access a phone bill and get her number. With that, they had traced the phone to a warehouse by the docks.

"Shit, there's a guard." She handed him the night-vision google they had quickly snatched from personal stash of military goodies he kept beneath his bed. "And god knows what they're doing to them."

"Waterboarding them, probably. It's the favorite method at the moment." One guard, one entrance, no visible secondary access points to exploit. It was a one way in, easy to defend place. Lockwood knew his shit, that was sure. He quickly made a list of ways they could bypass the guard, but in the end, they all required a long range kill. And they weren't equipped for it.

"Castle, you're the one used to this shit, any idea?"

"Yes, but it's pretty dumb."

"I don't care. I'm open to dumb ideas."

"Follow me then."

Out of good options, they tried the evergreen gimmick of the drunk, handsy couple that stumbles along the road trying to clear their head. They laughed as they clung to each other and tried to get closer to the guard, enough to take him down.

"Ever used this tactic?" she whispered in his ear.

"Never… but there's always a first time for everything."

As they wobbled on the sidewalk, Beckett leaned heavily on his chest, one hand firmly planted over his hip and the other ready to shoot at her holster in case it didn't work. Castle felt the initial enthusiasm fade when the guard caught sight of them. The big guy sported a heavy coat that barely covered the bulge of the large caliber weapon he kept beneath it, with a shoulder holster, and he was slowly walking towards them.

With murder written all over his face.

"He's not buying it Castle," she giggled.

Masked beneath the fake drunken slur, he could easily detect the fear and anxiety that coursed through her, and he had to agree. Things didn't look good for them and the grunt kept getting closer and closer. If they couldn't come up with something, they would have to pull their weapons and make a lot of noise to deal with him. And if Lockwood and whoever was with him heard the gunfire, they could consider Esposito and Ryan already dead.

"Kate, forgive me."

He stopped, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She gasped against his chest and her eyes filled with doubt and fear when his other hand cupped her cheek and pulled her towards him.

At first it felt like kissing a slab of stone. With good reason, Kate stiffened at first, before she realized he was doing this to distract the guard, to make their cover stronger and more veritable. When that thought finally crossed her mind, she warmed up to him and god it was like walking through the threshold of heaven. Her lips were so soft and warm, he could easily get lost in that kiss and lose control if circumstances were different.

Her fingers wound in his hair and the moment he tried to pull away, just enough to see if the guard had bought their pretense, she pulled him back to her and kissed him again, with renovated purpose and passion. That was enough for the guard to buy it and turn away.

He was about to lose it and haul her over the hood of a car parked nearby when she snapped away and used the butt of her gun to hit the guard in the back of the head. The guy fell on the ground without uttering a single word or making a single sound.

Still baffled and a bit confused, Castle had to force himself to go back to a more adapt state of mind, and yet he found himself murmuring the most idiotic thing that coursed through his hyperactive brain.

"That was amazing…"

Beckett turned around and threw him a killer glare. "The way you… the way you beat the guy! What were you even thinking?!" he managed to correct himself in the fastest - and dumbest - way possible. "Katherine Beckett I'd never…"

Quickly, they took good care of disarming him. He had a nice .50 caliber gun hidden beneath the coat and a .38 revolver at the ankle. In the back pocket, Castle also found a switchblade knife. "This guy packed some serious heat!"

"Who knows what kind of weapons the others have."

"We'll see. Come on."

Castle basically dragged her to the door and pushed it open as silently as he could, then he ducked and gestured her to do the same.

That was his turf, it was time for her to follow his lead.

Moving as fast as he could, he guided her behind a bunch of boxes and lay down on the dirty floor. From there, beneath the pallets that carried the old boxes, he had a more than decent view of the room. He counted six men, not considering Esposito and Ryan.

He had been right, before, they were being waterboarded. Ryan, to be precise, was being repeatedly dunked in cold water and used to convince Esposito to talk.

"What do we do now?" asked Kate.

"You? Absolutely nothing. Me? I'll sneak behind them and take them out, one by one."

He pulled the gun from the holster and the silencer he had packed, despite her initial complaint about sound suppressors being illegal in New York, and screwed it on. Then he handed the weapon to her. "In case I fuck up. And with these shoes, I'm bound to fuck up…"

"What if you need it?"

He pulled the concealed knife from the pocket. "I'm good with this," he told her. "Now, allow me to give you some advice. This is my field, so listen carefully. These guys are professional. Maybe not contract killers, but mercenaries of some kind. They have military background, so they'll probably fight that way. They'll look for cover, try to lure you out of yours so find a place where you are protected from shoulder to knee. Like there…" He pointed at the stairs, which had a wall railing. "Or there…" His finger showed her a column. "Walls are your friend, K? Stay as low as you can, shoot and duck, don't let them take aim. If, for whatever reason, they threaten to kill or hurt Espo and Ryan, shoot. You have spare mags for your gun?"

"Of course, I have two spare mags and one in the gun."

"You use a Glock 19 which means fifteen bullets per magazine plus one in the chamber, I have a Mk 23 with one spare mag," He made a quick calculation in his mind. "That means a total of seventy bullets, you should be fine," he explained while he rolled a piece of cloth he always kept in his pocket, out of habit, and tied it to his forehead.

"I'm not used to that handcannon of yours though!"

Sighing, Castle took the gun back from her hand and holstered it again, ready to use it. "Alright, use yours! One day I'll entertain you with a quick lesson on how useful are sound suppressors but now it's not the time. Use yours but if you need to reload, please, don't let the magazine fall on the ground or slam the other in like you need to show off. Try to keep noise at a minimum. Okay?"

Beckett nodded. "Okay. Good luck."

Castle positioned himself as if he was about to start running. "I don't need luck, I have training."

Slipping in the darkness of the terribly lit warehouse, he quickly circumnavigated the pool of light where all of Lockwood's men were standing. He got behind a column and took another survey of the area. They were all still concentrated on Ryan and Esposito, and Castle knew the two cops wouldn't survive much longer. They kept sassing their captors and Lockwood was getting pissed at them. A pissed torturer meant higher chances of ending up dead.

He knocked on the wall. The closest guy heard the noise and moved towards him to investigate. As soon as he got close enough, Castle grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket, one hand against his mouth to muffle any sound and quickly kneed him the groin. The man whimpered in pain against the palm of his hand, his eyes opened wide then shut close, long enough to turn him around so his back was against Castle's chest, his left arm against the throat and right hand holding the knife right beneath the eye. "Shut up," he ordered. "Don't make a sound. Nod, or shake your head. I counted six men, the guard outside is already asleep. Are there more?" The man shook his head. "Do you plan to kill the cops?" A nod. "Good boy. Now…" Castle snuck his right arm beneath his right armpit and wound it behind his head, then he pressed the neck of the poor man against his left forearm, cutting the blood flow to his brain. "Nap time."

The guy lost consciousness in thirty seconds, allowing him to move on to the next target. He snuck behind another column, back pressed against it, and knocked again. He repeated the very same moves, except for the short interrogation.

That's when Lockwood ordered his men to shoot out Ryan's kneecap, after Esposito crossed the line with the sass. And bullets begin to fly.

He needed to step up his game. Beckett was a great shot but Lockwood, drugs or no drugs, was a good marksman. If he still had his rifle, she had no chance against him.

Exploiting the noise and all the attention turned towards her, Castle moved swiftly from cover to cover until he was finally close enough to Lockwood to attack him. As his _friends_ fell under Beckett's bullets, Lockwood took a heavily modified M14, suppressor and scope included, and took aim at the cop. She was reloading, but by the lack or sounds, she was taking his advice to heart and was using them, as he couldn't hear the classic sounds of the magazine being slammed in place and the barrel being pulled back to load the first round in the chamber.

Lockwood seemed surprised by the sudden silence. The noises of reloading guns were often used, during shootouts to locate a moving target. By not making those sounds, Beckett was taking away that chance. _Good girl…_

The mercenary was smart though. He waited, hiding behind his cover, until Beckett moved. He must have noticed a movement somewhere on the other side of the large storage area, because he raised his rifle and assessed his aim. His index finger was already on the trigger finger when Castle finally made his move and jumped over him, his heavy body falling like a dead weight over the unaware man. The gun flew away from his reach, and Castle used the distraction to turn Lockwood on his back and repeatedly punch him in the face. He felt the bones of his left cheekbone crack beneath his knuckles and heard the bridge of his nose break, then the body beneath him became slack, when Lockwood lost consciousness.

"Castle!" cried Esposito then. "Get Ryan!"

Silently, the black ops agent ran towards the detective. "Hey Irish, you alright?" he asked as he tied the ropes that bound him. A moment later, Beckett joined them and started untying Esposito.

"Yeah, just fine. A bit cold perhaps…"

"Sit down, I'll call an ambulance," she ordered them.

"I'll tie the guys up and gather the weapons."

"Hey Castle!" called Ryan. "What's with the Rambo bandana?"

"Old habits die hard," he replied while he tied Lockwood's hands behind his back. "You Espo? Ever had a training officer pestering you to keep bodily fluids outside your eyes?"

"Nope…" The detective rubbed his chafed wrists. "I was told to shave my head and forget about everything."

"Ah, so you missed Master Miller then."

"Wait, you trained under Master Miller?"

"The one and only. I doubt I would have ever pulled out of so many suicide missions without his training. Crippled as he was… he was the best for survival training."

Barely minutes later, a bunch of cops and a number ambulances arrived to take care of the wounded. That included Castle. An overzealous, lithe paramedic forced the bulky man to follow her in the back of one of the ambulance to take a good look at his hand, with the excuse that you can't break a man's nose and cheekbone without breaking a knuckle or two. No matter how hard Castle tried to convince the young girl that he was just fine, she forced him to sit on the bench and let her check his hand.

"Don't tough it out, Mr. Castle," she had said as she gently pressed on each knuckle and bone of his hand, from the wrist to the tip of his pinky. "Some fractures take a day or two to manifest, if you shrug them off. And once they're visible, they hurt a lot more."

He let her do as she pleased and once she was done, she applied some lenitive ointment on the bruises and scrapes and tightly wrapped the hand in a some gauze. Too tight.

He was unwrapping the six meters of dressing she had used when Beckett climbed in the back of the ambulance. Silently, she took his hand in his and resumed his work with the gauze. "Hey there, Chuck Norris, how are you doing?"

Castle shrugged. "I'm more of a Jean Claude Van Damme kind of guy but… I'm doing fine. Espo and Ryan?"

"Mild hypothermia, wounded pride. Guess which will heal first?"

He chuckled, and smiled when she gently tucked the end of the dressing gauze to keep it closed. "How about you?"

"I'm… thinking," she stated, her voice faltering. "I'm thinking that the timing is not right."

He nodded, slowly. "Yep, the timing… it isn't right. First the bomb, then this… I may even believe that Jack Coonan's murder right after the bomb was fortuitous, but this? Rathborne dies in suspect circumstances and ten days later John Raglan wants to tell you something that could turn your mother's murder from a cold case into an active investigation and all of this happens? No, it isn't right."

"Definitely isn't right. But… I have the feeling that McAllister spoke of someone that isn't that high up in the hierarchy. As you said, this isn't the way they work. They don't move for something so petty as a lawyer looking into the case of a mobster. This may be one of their associates, but that operates on a lower scale."

"Like, city-wide?" he inquired.

"Or state-wide. I don't know, it's a supposition. What do you think?"

He took a deep breath. "I think that it makes sense. But at this point, we may have to look away from LokSat for a while, expose this guy that operates in smaller scale and then dig some more to get to the source."

"It's the fact that the same contract killer was used that bugs me."

"Rathborne is the link. We took him out of the field, and they sent someone else," he said. "We now got Lockwood out of the field, I bet they'll send someone else. We need to be careful Kate, this game is getting dangerous."

She closed her eyes and hid her face in her hands. "Very dangerous. But we're getting closer Rick. We're getting closer to the man that ordered the hit on my mother and the men that fucked up your missions, we can't let go now."

"Then we need to step up the game. We need to be more careful in what we do, we need to find the third cop Pulgatti spoke of. And we need Ryan to do some hacking."

Beckett smiled and patted his thigh. "Then that's what we will do."

* * *

 _Word count:_ _29340_

 _AN: this might be the last update for a couple of weeks, since this Friday I'll leave for ten days of vacation in Slovenia with no internet access. Well, we'll have internet access but it will be spotty and random so I don't think I'll really be able to update next Monday. Anyway, enjoy!_


	10. All This Pain Reminds Me Of What I Am

**Chapter Ten - All This Pain Reminds Me Of What I Am**

The third cop was a ghost.

According to every record regarding Raglan and McAllister, there was no third cop. No rookie they trained, nothing. Every document either failed to mention a third cop or had been doctored, with varying degrees of skill. Even the documents in the online databases had been modified, altered or simply made disappear.

Ryan was having a long streak of bad days, trying to pull old cache copies of documents that had been digitalized in the stone age of IT in the NYPD by people who probably thought the concept of _caching_ was something tied to pirate treasures, not informatics. He even brought in reinforcements from the specific department, an IT tech called Tori who, according to the detective, was as beautiful as she was talented.

Yet, nothing happened, they couldn't find one single lead to follow about the third cop and every lead they had on LokSat had turned cold the moment Lockwood had walled himself in silence, refusing to say a word even when his attorney had tried to convince him to talk, in exchange for a less severe sentence. Just as Coonan, the mercenary didn't utter a single word that wasn't a snarky comment on the detectives' amateur investigation.

On a last resort before the authorities moved him to Rykers, Castle had tried to make him talk. First, in a very legal way, under Beckett's supervision, then in a more black ops style, reserving him the very same treatment he had given Ryan and Esposito. In the men's restroom.

LokSat chose their men carefully, thick as granite and, most of all, loyal. Even Vulcan Simmons proved to be a dead end.

Soon after Lockwood's arrest, in late February, all trails were cold. Dead, in many ways, and Castle found himself itching for something to do. In the couple of months they had spent investigating the bomb and then everything that had come up next, he had fun. Despite the terrible circumstances that brought such fun, with the homicides, the lies and the conspiracies, Castle felt a new vigor coursing through his body. No longer did he linger in bed in the morning, hoping against hope for five more minutes after a night plagued by nightmares, for a dreamless sleep that would allow him to rest for real, if only for the briefest of time.

He got out of bed when the alarm rung, kept human circadian rhythms and insomnia had got better and, for the utmost joy of his publishers, words would flow from his fingers like a river during a flood. The outline of the new book was ready, the first few chapters had been turned in for editing. And he spent more time at the precinct, solving common murders and other crimes.

Yet, he took comfort in keeping a weapon on himself, even when he was home. The paranoid war vet was still there, despite the fact that after Lockwood no one had come to give them more to climb on in their pursuit for justice. They kept looking, in their spare time, but the case load was staggering. Castle couldn't really believe that so many homicides happened in such a short amount of time.

No wonder Beckett wasn't so inclined to listen to him when he dropped at the precinct that morning with nothing but a theory. The 12th was submerged in cases, from the magician involved in the faked death of a crooked industrialist found dead in his water tank to the guy found dead in the oven of a pizzeria that led them to a drug dealer who moved her stuff through pizza boxes. They hoped that the dealer was involved with Simmons or any of his associates, but they dealt drugs on opposite sides of New York, they were competitors, not allies of any sort.

The pizza thing though, it was crazy. Castle thought he had seen everything when in FOXHOUND but that stratagem to move the merchandise was great.

As cases rolled in and out, so did months and seasons. Winter gave way to Spring and temperatures rose in New York, and Beckett took weekly trips to Rykers to try and interrogate Lockwood, always to no avail. Meanwhile, the investigation stalled.

Until one Saturday morning, Hal Lockwood had been moved to General Population and stabbed McAllister in his bunk. It had been an execution that Beckett had tried to prevent, but arrived too late.

So there they were, sitting in a courtroom very early on Monday, to see what would happen to Lockwood.

"I have a bad feeling about this…" murmured Castle while the guard brought Lockwood in the room.

"Right there with you, Obi-Wan…"

As Beckett kept moving her eyes from one person to another, searching for that detail that set them both on edge, Castle stared at Lockwood's head, right in front of him. He just wished he had his gun, but he had to leave it in her car, locked in the glove compartment as his concealed carry permit wouldn't allow him to carry a gun in court, as he wasn't a cop or an active member of the military. He had the feeling that something would happen, something bad, if he stopped staring at him.

The judge walked in and he felt her hand grab his arm. "Castle…" she whispered. "Those cops… the are wearing chrome collar pins… NYPD's are brass..."

Lockwood turned around, towards those cops, and mouthed a command. In the corner of his vision, Castle saw something cylindrical being launched towards them and immediately recognized the shape of a flashbang grenade.

His extensive training kicked in and he wrapped one arm around Beckett's shoulders and pulled her towards his chest to shield her eyes from the bright light, before he hid his own face in the crook of her neck. Protecting their ears from the loud bang was nearly impossible, the 160 decibels explosion was designed to be sort of undefeatable, but trapping one of her ears against his bicep and the other against his chest, he had room of maneuver to cover his own.

That way, they'd be at least functioning. Dazed, but functioning, most of all him as he had been trained to withstand that kind of threat.

When the grenade went off, they were almost protected, but the noise blast was devastating, he lost his balance and fell backwards on his back, with Beckett moaning in pain just above him.

With less care than he would have preferred, he shoved her away, grabbed her gun and stood up, just in time to see the three fake cops escorting Lockwood outside the room. He ran behind them in pursuit, pushing stunned or unconscious people aside in the desperate attempt to reach them. He heard Beckett stagger behind him. She was probably way more stunned than he was, and he was basically deaf in that moment, no wonder she found it difficult to keep up.

He followed the cops and Lockwood to the elevator, the doors were closing when he turned the corner. "Fuck…" he murmured, then he launched himself in the midst of the screaming crowd towards the stairs. They were probably going for a roof escape, with a helicopter if he had to guess, so he sprinted up as fast as he could.

 _I should really start wearing sneakers on regular basis_. He thought as he slipped, because of the more formal shoes he had got used to wearing. _Or go back to combat boots entirely._

He finally reached the top floor and burst through a fire door just in time to see the the helicopter rise from the improvised helipad and head north.

Now out of options, he shot at it. Three out of five bullets hit the target, the sparks originating from the hull giving him the certainty he had aimed correctly.

"Shit!" he shouted, not entirely able to hear his voice.

"Give me the gun!" yelled Beckett behind him, in his same conditions. "Give me the gun before someone gets here and finds an armed civilian!"

He passed the gun and she unloaded the magazine, then ejected the bullet in the chamber, as procedures demanded. "You okay?" he asked.

"Ears hiss."

"Give it time, it will go away. Eyes? Can you see?"

She nodded. "Yes Castle I'm fine! Now I want to find out who the fuck allowed this crap to happen! You know what it means to have Lockwood on the loose?"

"Yes, I do!" he exclaimed. "It means that we're all in danger."

* * *

Her eyes were filled with rage as they walked back in the precinct after giving their statements to her colleagues tasked with investigating on the breakout. Castle had quickly learned how to read her, to interpret her body language and act in the most appropriate way in order to survive, and he had never seen her so angry. She nearly bit Ryan's head off when he approached her with what they had dug out after she had informed them. Which was nothing.

"So let me get this straight, we don't have names for the accomplices, we don't know where the they went and Lockwood is out there ready to pull the trigger on any of us?" she yelled, fists banging on her desk in the vain attempt to vent out some of the anger.

"We don't know if he'll go after us!"

"He will," interjected Castle. "Someone wanted Lockwood out, either because he's their best man or because they need something to be done fast and he is the only one that can make it in time."

"So they break him out? Must have taken a lot of time."

"Four days!" shouted Esposito. "Four days. Lockwood made regular phone calls to a number, each week since he got locked in. The calls have always been refused, until four days ago. Check the inbox, I sent you the recording."

It was one of the shortest phone calls Castle had ever heard, but it meant so much it seemed like it had lasted hours, to his ears.

"Check for family, see if Lockwood has any relatives named…"

Esposito shook his head. "Those are not names of people, it's the phonetic alphabet."

"Military jargon," continued Castle. "It means continue mission. A mission they have been probably planning from the outside for a long while, and Lockwood knew the plan in advance as a pre-planned exit strategy."

"They probably bribed a couple of guards, someone working in the office to move Lockwood in general population…" Beckett sighed. "And there it was, out of Rykers and into a hole-ridden courtroom. McAllister wasn't the mission though, it was just an excuse to get out."

"So who is the mission target?" asked Montgomery, after he materialized behind the group.

"The third cop," stated Castle. "Our ghost we can't find anywhere."

Her phone rang and she moved away to answer.

"Give her a protective detail," ordered the Captain. "I don't care if she doesn't like it. And if you find Lockwood, kill him. He won't see another courtroom." Then he stormed back inside his office, shut the door and locked it for good.

Strange. In the past few months, Castle had never heard him ordering his men to do something illegal. He dismissed it though, when Beckett closed the call and announced that the helicopter had been found in New Jersey.

Spotless of course, soaked in bleach and other detergents to clean all the DNA traces. Only the bulletholes in the hull.

Then, the next day, they found the cop responsible for Lockwood being moved. Dead. A huge bank deposit on his account, coming straight from a Swiss bank in the Arab Emirates. Untraceable. And more doctored documents, buried deep in the archives, discovered just because Castle had a decent knowledge of typewriters and the way they worked.

They had nothing.

Beckett was sinking in a bottomless rabbit hole, rage consuming her like a wildfire in the woods. He was having flashbacks all the time. Ryan and Esposito were about to crack too, grasping at the shortest straws they could find as they kept looking into the archives and the doctored reports.

That evening, Castle felt like his life was slipping through his fingers, like sand on the beach. A glass of scotch in one hand and the gun in the other, he sat in his office staring at the wall, contemplating the next move.

Should they stop? Give up everything, before they ended up dead?

Beckett would never accept it.

But if they stubbornly kept digging in that cesspool of lies, corruption and higher powers meddling with the affairs of half of the world, they were on a one way trip to hell. Straight to the graveyard. All of them, and maybe more.

"Fuck…" he said to himself.

"Everything alright, Richard?" called his mother from the threshold.

"If by alright you mean that everything is crumbling to pieces and I don't really know where to look at, yeah, it's alright."

With a dramatic sigh, Martha walked closer and sat on the chair opposite of him. "You knew this was going to be tough."

He chuckled, a mirthless hint of a laugh filled with sarcasm. "You don't say… you know what's worse though? That I was starting to feel better! The flashbacks, the nightmares… almost gone. Working with them, with Beckett and her team was making me feel better about my past! And now? Three days since Lockwood escaped and I'm back at zoning out and having flashbacks every time someone closes a drawers with a bang."

"What about Kate?" she inquired. "How does she feel about it?"

"She's so concentrated on finding her mother's murder that she can't see that this road we're paving is leading us straight to the cemetery. Montgomery asked me to try and talk her out of it, since _I'm the one that has seen what these men are capable of_."

"Did you try? To talk her out of it? To make her step down?"

He shook his head and finished the drink in his glass. "No… I probably should but… I understand her, you know? I know why she's doing it, what drives her. Because it's the same feeling that drove me to take that file to the 12th, after the bomb. She lost her mother and… I would probably act the same way, if I lost you the way she lost her mom."

Martha smiled, her eyes full of sympathy. "That's sweet Richard… but, Katherine is in danger now."

"I know and… if it were only me, it would be easier. I know how to deal with them, I know how they work. But her… she doesn't know, she think she can take the world by storm and for fuck's sake she could, she has the potential but… not against them." He sighed and rested his head on the back of the chair. "I don't want her to die because of me."

"You've grown fond of that girl, haven't you?"

"I think I've fallen in love with her, Mother."

"I suspected as much." She took the empty glass from his fingers and set it on the coffee table nearby. "Richard, she may not know who she's up against, but you do. Go to her, help her protect herself. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

"You think so?"

Martha nodded, and gently patted his thigh. "I do. Now, take that toned bubble butt of yours and move it to her apartment. Time to put all those hours in the gym to good use."

* * *

One hour later, he knocked on her door. He was welcomed by a very stressed detective, gun in her hand, ready to shoot any possible assailant.

"What are you doing here, Castle?"

"Lockwood's out there and I couldn't just stay home," he said, walking in. His steps were heavy, made so by the old, worn combat boots he had pulled out of his wardrobe.

She took a good look at him then, and definitely noticed something was different about him. "How are you even dressed?"

"Like a black ops agent," he explained. "Because I may present myself as a writer, but deep down, this is who I am. This is who I trained to be half of my life, and it makes me feel better. So, here I am, ready to sneak in a military compound if you ask me to." He stood in her living room, hands clasped around the tactical belt buckle, waiting for her reply. He was sure she didn't want him there, that she felt like she didn't need him, but no matter what, he wasn't going to move out of that apartment. Still, it must have been quite a shock for her to see him dressed that way, with the black pants tucked in the boots, the black shirt and the tactical equipment. His own mother struggled to recognize him.

"And you just supposed I would accept your offer without saying a word?"

He shrugged. "No, I'm quite sure you don't want me here. But I don't care. It was either this or drinking my way into drunkenness to stop the flashbacks for a while."

"That bad, uh?"

"And I'm downplaying it."

She moved to the couch and sat there. "So? What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to take a quick survey of the house, checking for structural weaknesses or points of entry, if you don't mind." She shook her head. "And coffee would be nice."

So, they waited. There wasn't much to do but to wait. Wait for dawn, wait for Ryan and Esposito to find something, wait for Lockwood and his men to make their move…

It was unnerving. Beckett was jittery, fidgeting on her couch ready to reach for her gun at the minimal noise. She was a ticking bomb, ready to explode.

"How do you do this?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"The wait."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Training. Mental conditioning. Experience. A plethora of reasons you don't want to hear."

"Aren't you scared?"

Ah, the one million dollar question. "I'm terrified. I know it doesn't look so but… I'm scared to death. But I'm also used to the tension of battle, so my mind doesn't register it. Not until adrenaline fades, then I will wilt like a plant in dire need of water and… it's not pretty."

"So this is a battle for you."

"My life is a battle, Beckett," he revealed. "It has been ever since I enlisted because I was completely out of money and I couldn't find a job. First the training, then deployment, and the drafting in FOXHOUND… a battle after the other. This? This is just another step ahead. And for once in my life, I'm not sent to deal with mess ups other people made. I'm here for a good reason."

"And that reason would be?"

"To protect someone I care about."

Much to his relief, she smiled. But not a stiff smile, a reaction dictated by common courtesy, a full blown, sincere smile that lit her face, a smile that made her shine. "Thank you Castle."

"Always."

Her phone beeped and she checked the message, frowning.

"Who's that?"

"It's Montgomery. He wants to meet me at the heliport where we found the helicopter from this morning, STAT."

"That's not good," he replied. "And it makes no sense."

She gave him a stiff nod. "I know. But we have to go, it could be important."

"Definitely. Come on, we'll make up a plan on the way." He stood and checked his gun in the thigh holster. "Bring a backup gun, I smell a trap and I don't like it one bit."

* * *

 _Word count: 32631_

 _Author Note: guess who just got married at a heavy metal festival?_


	11. I'll Live

**Chapter Eleven - I'll Live**

The hangar was dark and deserted, not even a guard at the door.

It was just too wrong. The foul smell of a trap filled Castle's nostrils like gunpowder after a shootout.

"I don't like this," he murmured when she parked the car. As soon as he set his feet on the ground, he unlocked the safety loop from the gun, just in case.

"Neither do I, but… what can we do?"

"Stay alert. Now, you go in, I'll stay in the back and intervene only if you need it, as we planned."

"Are you sure this is the right idea?"

Castle looked around and nodded. "Yes. I have this weird feeling that it's not Montgomery we should be afraid of. I'll take a good look around and see if there's someone else…"

"No, Castle, please. Stay close," she begged him. "Stay close. I don't trust anyone but you right now."

"Alright, I'll stay close. I'll hide behind something, close enough to hear you. Call me if you need me, okay?"

Catching him completely off guard, she grabbed his belt and pulled him closer to her and wrapped her arms around his torso in a tight embrace. Castle couldn't help but reciprocate the embrace. "Everything will be alright, Kate. I'll make sure of it."

He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet, cherry scent of her conditioner. It felt like walking through a garden on a sunny, spring day. The hangar was cold, but the heat of her body seeped through her leather jacket and his shirt, warming him up like a bonfire on the beach.

"Everything will be alright," he repeated, more to himself than to her, trying to convince himself that things would really get better, one way or another.

"You can't know that…" she whispered against his chest. "I'm so scared Castle…"

He smiled, briefly. "If there's something the battlefield taught me, is that everything that stands between you and coming home, it's your fear. If you let it control you, you're bound to fall. If you control your fear, it becomes your best weapon."

"How?"

"The adrenaline. I was trained to control the rush. Trust me, when this is over, I'll teach you."

"I count on that."

He dared to kiss her forehead. "Come on, let's get this over with."

As Beckett walked through the door that separated the two hangars, Castle stalled a little, then followed her in the adjacent building right before the door shut closed. Exploiting the dark shadows that surrounded him and the lack of illumination, he slid past a bunch of boxes and hid behind one of the private helicopters stored in there. Then he lay down on the floor, prone, and took a good look around. He could see the lower portion of Beckett, walking towards a door on the other side of the hangar. In front of that door, stood a second person, crisp pants and leather jacket, facing away from them. Montgomery.

He needed a better position, closer to them and outside Montgomery's cone of vision. There were gasoline barrels, neatly stacked about ten meters to his left. If he moved quickly, while Montgomery was still turned, the cop would never know he was there, so he crouched and jogged to the new cover. That was nearly perfect.

With his back pressed against the barrels, Castle dared to look at the two cops facing each other. Montgomery had a gun in his hand, but Beckett didn't seem too worried about it. She maintained a certain distance between them, but her shoulders were relaxed, not overly tensed. She didn't feel threatened.

The started talking, but he got distracted when his phone vibrated in the pocket of his tactical vest. A text message from Ryan.

 _Montgomery is the third cop._

Castle roughly wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. _What?_

When his attention turned again to the two cops not ten yards from him, he caught the last few words of the captain's confession and the first part of the explanation of how they had been forced to turn in all the ransom money to someone more powerful than them, the person that had hired the hitman for her mother. Then he spoke of using Kate as bait, for Lockwood and his man.

 _Not on my watch, asshole._

Without a sound, he pulled the silenced gun from the holster and stood up, so that Montgomery could see him. He didn't look fazed at all.

"They're coming, now. You need to get out of here!" begged Montgomery.

"Give me a name!" she cried.

"No, if I give you a name you'll both go run straight to him and you'll die before you can even make a single move against him. Rogers, get her out of here!"

Castle started walking towards them, gun trained on the cop. "With all the due respect Captain but…"

"Captain Rogers, get Beckett out of here now!" he ordered. "Listen Kate… this is my place. This is where I stand. I made a decision, I'm done running. I made mistakes in the past, but you were my second chance to do something good in this life. Go, now!"

"Captain… please…" Her voice was broken, she had to force out every word through a thick lump of tears ready to fall.

"Rogers, do it now. Your father would never forgive me if I let his son die for my sins…"

Castle felt like his gun had just turned into a ton of bricks. _My father?_

"Go!" Montgomery screamed at the top of his lungs. "Go!"

Fingers twitching, aching to pull the trigger, the dumbfounded veteran couldn't defy an order, despite the myriad of questions floating through his mind at the moment. He couldn't let her die like that. And if Montgomery wanted to die for it, well damn him and his soul, all he had come to protect Kate and that was what wanted to do. What he had to, what he had been just ordered too.

He put his gun away and sprinted forward to steal hers from the holster hip, securing it in the back of his pants. Then he wrapped his arms around her torso and forcefully lifted her from the ground as he pulled back. In the corner of his vision, he saw the headlights of an SUV coming and he knew he had to move quickly.

Beckett fought, screamed and tried to pry his grip on her any way she could, but he was stronger, no matter what. She could fight all she wanted, he had her. He hauled her over to the hangar where they had left the car, a hand over her mouth to keep her shouted please from rousing unwanted attention. She bit him, and he didn't flinch. Neither her heels forcefully kicking his shins and thighs made him faze. He had a mission to complete and he was going to, even if he had to bleed.

He finally reached the car and pushed her back against it. The pain and fear in her eyes nearly killed him.

"Kate…" he whispered, pushing her long hair away from her face. "Kate, don't… don't cry please!" He held her tight, pressed between his body and the side of the cruiser. "He made his choice… don't ruin your life for him…"

Tears slipped down her cheeks to his fingers, as the deafening noises of a shootout filled the air around them. He let the hand covering her mouth fall and she cried harder, but no way she could be heard over the shootout. Beckett tried, in vain, to push him away, but he held her even tighter, pulling her flush against his body as she cried, until she stopped fighting against him and simply let him hold her close, wrapping her arms around his chest in the vain attempt to hold onto something that wasn't the pain and the fear coursing through her body like electricity.

"Everything will be fine," he whispered in her ear, trying to reassure her. "Everything will be alright, we'll rise from this, things will be better. I promise you, we'll make things better. For Montgomery too."

A strangled sob made her jerk in his arms, but he felt her nod. "We'll make it work, things will be better."

He had to bite his tongue not to declare his love for her at the worst of times, and it cost him more effort that he would have liked to admit. It was the worst sensation in the world, the heart-wrenching need to voice his feelings for the distraught woman he held in his arms and didn't want to let go. He wished he could take away her pain, or at least carry some of it on his shoulders as he knew what kind of pain she was going through, he had felt it, on his skin, many times through the years. It's the pain of the survivor, the gut-deep realization that someone had died because of you, because you didn't do something to prevent it.

It was the kind of pain that gave him daily nightmares, the anguish he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. A phantom pain akin to that of an amputee, as if parts of his heart had been torn away from him, chewed and spit out, useless now. He had left parts of his heart in Bosnia, in Somalia, in Kuwait and Shadow Moses, just as Kate Beckett was leaving a part of hers in that hangar. And the phantom pain of that loss would forever follow her, like an endless void weighing her down, a weight she would never be able to shake off.

The worst though came when the shootout died down and he had to let her go, and she ran to see if there was something salvageable.

Of course, there wasn't.

Six bodies lay on the cold concrete ground, all dead. Still crying, Beckett tried to revive Montgomery, but he was already gone. As she leaned over his still warm body, crying like a lost child, Castle felt his heart break in thousands little pieces, and he didn't know if he would ever be able to mend it.

* * *

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of cops and EMTs flocking around them asking questions. They sat on boxes, quietly, while the professionals did their job. They kept each other close, always within reach in case one of them needed a boost. Beckett often sought him for a quick hug or a reassuring squeeze of his hand, as if the short-lived physical contact could somehow ease the pain.

Castle wished he could give her something more than that, maybe a word of comfort but even the expert novelist, the wordsmith as he liked to proclaim himself in interviews and TV appearances, was at a loss. Montgomery's words still hung in his head, the mention of his father nagging him like a power drill to his temple.

He didn't have a father.

Well, of course he had one, more like a sperm donor, his mother used to call him. A fling of one night, no names, no numbers exchanged. Just an excess of alcohol and the rush of youth. According to her, he had inherited his father's height and build, and the blue, expressive eyes. She knew nothing of the character of that man that had made her a mother, only that he was nice, talkative and had the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen, and that she was happy he had got them from the mysterious man.

Dawn was approaching, the sky already gray behind the hangars of the heliport, when they were finally let go.

Ryan and Esposito followed them and they had a quick meeting in Beckett's living room. Battered and broken by grief, the three cops and veteran turned novelist swore to protect Montgomery's reputation at all costs, for everything he had done for them. For the chances he had given them, Castle included. Beckett had called them the _immediate family._

Despite the pain and sorrow, he found himself smiling, albeit briefly, at the inclusive words.

For once, keeping a secret didn't feel too bad.

Espo and Ryan left a while later, to decompress and start elaborating the grief their own way. Beckett ushered them out of her apartment, but Castle lingered. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?" he whispered, his hands on her shoulders.

She wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded. "I'll be as alright as I can be now. Go home Castle, sleep a little, spend some time with Alexis. I'll call you when I know something about the funeral."

"Alright… do you think they'll mind if I show up in dress uniform?"

"No, I don't think so. We will all be in uniform, after all. You'd stand out if you weren't wearing one."

"I'll have it washed and pressed then. Be safe, okay?" he pleaded. "Don't do anything stupid, let the investigation go for a while, give yourself time to grieve. And call me, if you need anything. Even if you need to scream at someone, don't hesitate."

Smiling, she nodded again. "I'll keep that in mind. Now go. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."

He leaned towards her and kissed her forehead, a small, innocent token of affection that gave her, and him, a quantum of solace. "Big girls need a shoulder to cry on too. And I have two big shoulders."

* * *

The morning of the funeral, time seemed to drag. Castle woke early, took a long shower and ate a small breakfast, just enough to keep the pangs of hunger at bay until after the ceremony. His stomach felt like it was clamped in a vice and the little he had to eat threatened to show up again soon after he had finished it, so tensed he was.

He had taken his old uniform out of the protective plastic container days before, had it washed, ironed and had spent a painstakingly long hour attaching all the pins back to the lapels and epaulettes. He even took some medals out, like the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Service Cross. He didn't mean to show them off, but he felt like it was the right time to wear them.

He dressed carefully, paying attention even to the tiniest detail, like the position of the tie tack and the tightness of the belt. He combed his hair back and added the green beret, the distinctive mark of his unit.

It had been years since the last time he had worn that uniform. If felt tight and constrictive, but not in a physical way. It was like a lump in his throat, but it had fallen to the pit of his stomach.

That uniform was drenched in blood, old and new. Some of it still fresh.

As he stared at his reflection in the full figure mirror, he could almost see the stains appear on the dark green fabric and a pool of dark red liquid form beneath his polished boots.

But he owed Montgomery, he owed him all the honors. One way soldiers showed their respect was through the uniform. Roy Montgomery had made mistakes and had paid for them, after a lifetime of atonement. That was more than enough to earn him Castle's respect.

The ceremony was quiet, somber. The silence in the crowd was deafening, as he stood close to the caskett, behind Beckett and Ryan, as part of the honor guard. He had done this so many times he had lost count.

Taking turns on the podium, many people shared their thoughts and memories about the fallen captain. They were all fond words for a loved man, someone who could earn your respect in the blink of an eye. From what Castle could hear, Montgomery was a fair cop that would protect his men and women to death, if they were worth it.

Some things Ryan said were moving, too. He had to give credit to the young Irish-American cop, he knew which string to pick. He noticed a number of hardened police officers shed a tear or two as he spoke.

Air stilled, when Beckett walked on the podium for her turn. Castle could hear the emotions in her voice, she faltered often as she spoke. As the last one in line to speak, she had a very difficult spot to fill, difficult words to pronounce. Even harders words to retain.

Something caught his eye, while she spoke. The glare of the bright sun reflecting on something, just for a second, then it was gone.

He saw it again, a moment later. Just a glimpse of light, around fifty meters from the group.

Right in front of the podium.

Castle felt a prickle of fear creep up his back to the back of his neck, like a crawling creature. _No…_ he thought. _Not now…_

Then he noticed something moving behind one of the white gravestones. A black boot, digging in the grass to brace for a shot.

A sniper.

"Beckett get down!" he screamed as he moved to shield her, but it was too late. She stopped talking in the middle of a word, gasped and went rigid as her body registered the searing pain of the high speed bullet aimed for her heart.

The fell on the grass with a muffled thud while everyone around them ducked for cover. Instinctively, his hand went to press on the wound. "Stay with me Kate…" he pleaded. "I'm sorry Kate, it's all my fault…"

Her warm blood seeped through the dark blue uniform shirt and through his fingers and he had to shake his head vigorously to shove a flashback away. Her eyes were open wide in terror and shock her mind still probably hadn't registered the pain as her body did. It was shutting down from the blood loss, he saw the light leave her beautiful eyes as her heart struggled to beat against the damage. She was clinging to life with everything she had and then some.

"Kate, please… stay with me. It's my fault I should have taken that bullet…" he cried. "Please Kate… don't leave me, I don't think I can take it Kate, I…"

A warm hand came to help him with staunching the wound right when he was about to confess his true feelings. Lanie. "Step back Castle, I've got this."

She lost consciousness then.

Despite his better judgement, Castle stood up in the middle of the crowd, warm blood dripping from his fingers.

 _There must be something I can do…_ he thought, desperate.

Then the adrenaline kicked in, along with the wrath.

They had dared to touch her, the only innocent party in the whole mess. They should have got after him, not after her. She had done nothing. He had been the one that had thwarted their plans, not her. They had no reason to target her…

Unless they wanted to stop him.

As realization hit him like a brick in the back of his head, he screamed, his voice hoarse like a wounded bear. With nothing but murder in his mind, he threw the beret away and tore the jacket off, before he rushed towards the general direction of the sniper. He dodged cops and other people coming to pay the last respects for Montgomery, jumped over gravestones and finally reached the sniper's nest, where he had left the rifle to make the escape easier. The grass where the man had laid was still warm, as was the barrel of the gun.

He had time to find him.

Or her.

He frantically looked around, looking for traces around him. There were deep prints left in the ground, enough spaces between them to signal the person leaving them was running. He had thirty seconds of advantage, Castle could still gain on him. Or her. More probably him, given the size of the prints.

He followed the tracks, running like the four horsemen were out for his blood. The tracks lead him to a small grouping of trees, and he slowed down. That was the best place for an ambush.

His instincts were right. An arm and a shoulder, clad in a green overall typical of cemetery workers, appeared from behind a trunk right where his shoulders were supposed to be if he had kept the same neck-breaking pacing, but having slowed down, Castle was able to dodge the wrestling move. More than that, he grasped the arm and pivoting on one foot, he pulled the assailant to the ground. The man put up some efforts to remain upright, but Castle had more momentum.

He put up some resistance, trying to turn and cushion the fall, but Castle kept his hold on the arm and pulled hard, using his whole body as a leverage to pour more strength in his movements and make the joint lock as painful as he could. "You damn fucker…" he shouted, pulling until the man was pressed with his back on the grass, then he put his knee over his throat. "Who sent you?"

The man, tall, white and extremely calm despite the situation, smirked. "You have no idea what you're up against," he gasped.

A split second later, Castle felt the sting of a short blade being pushed in his bicep and was forced to loosen his grip on him. The man had a hidden knife, somewhere, and had used it where he was more vulnerable.

The sniper weaseled his way out of Castle's grasp and moved to hit him. By the way he moved, he had a past in the army too, Navy SEALS probably, given the stance. The first fist landed hard on his left eye, blinding him temporarily, but he managed to dodge the second by launching, head first, against his torso and push him back to the ground.

It worked, and a moment later Castle was straddling him, knife still stuck in his arm and his blood mixing with Kate's on his left fingers as he grasped the neck of the sniper's overalls and used them to choke him.

When he tried again to make a move against him, the green beret pulled the knife out of his bicep and used it to sever the tendons in both his arms, rendering them completely useless. "Tell me who sent you!" he ordered again, shouting.

"You'll die before you know."

Furious and anguished, Castle planted the bloody blade of the knife in the ground beside the sniper's ear and took hold of the overalls again, pushing his knuckles into his neck to block the blood flow to the brain. The man struggled to break free, in one last ditch to save himself and get rid of the enraged black ops agent, to no avail. Vascular obstruction was the fastest way to render someone powerless, and one of the safest too, despite the inherited dangers of strangling someone. But Castle had done that move so often he knew when to stop, and the moment his eyes rolled back and he stopped striving to get free, he let go of his neck so he wouldn't cause a permanent damage.

Not giving a damn about the severe wounds that adorned his arms, Castle turned the sniper around and tied his hands behind his back with his tie. He pulled the knife out of the ground, pocketed it then proceeded to haul the man on his shoulder in the most painful way possible, then he briskly walked back to the place where the funeral had been interrupted, just uphill.

 _You're lucky I didn't have a gun._

When he reappeared, a bloody mess carrying another bloody man, everyone who wasn't involved in keeping Beckett alive stilled. Breathing heavily for the effort and the rage, he dropped the unidentified man on the ground so hard he was sure one of his shoulders dislocated.

"Castle?" called Esposito. "What the hell happened?"

"I caught the sniper."

He barely registered his daughter crashing into him in a breath-taking hug, or Ryan kneeling beside the sniper and replacing the makeshift cuffs with real ones, he was solely concentrated on the paramedics working on keeping Beckett afloat.

Someone, his mother probably, put his jacket over his shoulders.

People around him talked, screamed, asked him questions, tried to make sense of what had just happened but he was deaf to all of this. As the adrenaline wore off, he plunged in the post-battle catatonic state he had tried to describe to her just a few days earlier. He had to rely on both his mother and daughter to stand up, and he barely noticed when they pushed him down on a chair and slipped his jacket back on. Only then he realized that he was shaking, probably in shock.

Someone tried to check on him, asked him if he was alright but Castle didn't want to divert the EMTs' attention from Kate, so he pushed him away a couple of times. But the paramedic insisted until a spark of rage made him burst out of the bubble he had plunged in. Grabbed the lapel of the technician shirt and made him turn around towards his colleagues, still busy with stabilizing Kate. "I'm fine!" he shouted. "Get to her, she's the one that needs your fuckin' help!"

The paramedic scrambled away, scared shitless by the sudden burst of anger.

Castle felt like crap, but he didn't give a damn about that scratch on his arm and the black eye. Those would heal in a matter of days. A bullet to the chest? Not so much.

"Dad, you're covered in blood!" cried Alexis then. "You should have let him check on you."

"Not mine," he grumbled. "I'm fine Pumpkin. It's Kate that needs their help. Not me."

"But…"

"Alexis, I'll live. I'll be fine, I had worse. If there's a chance that even the attention of just one paramedic more will save her, well let her have it. I can wait."

Yes, he could wait. He was used to waiting. What he didn't know, was if he was going to keep it together if he lost her.

* * *

 _Word count: 37000 (uh, neat!)_


	12. I'll Become All I Need To Be

**Chapter Twelve - I'll Become All I Need To Be**

The ride to the hospital in the back of Ryan's car felt like the helicopter rides to battlezones, only this time he was already covered in blood. That usually didn't happen until he came back.

Castle kept twisting his now crumpled, bloody tie between his fingers. It was ruined now, but he didn't care much about it. He had seen the pessimistic glares thrown among the EMTs as they loaded Beckett in the back of the ambulance, they didn't think she'd make it, and not knowing how she was faring as the ambulance speeded away to the nearest trauma center was killing him.

"What happened with the sniper?" asked Esposito, breaking the thick silence that had fallen in the car.

"I caught him." He didn't say much else.

"We gathered that. But what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well Captain I do. What the fuck happened with the sniper?"

Castle wrapped the creased tie around his hand tight enough to partially stop the blood flow. The sharp sting in his fingers helped him keeping an incoming flashback away. "I saw the glare of the scope. I tried to push her away but I was too late. Then I don't know… I just… ran there and… I caught him. That's all."

"And that black eye?"

"Occupational hazards."

Finally, they pulled in the hospital parking lot and Castle shot out of the car before it had completely stopped. He stomped in the ER, looking for news. He found a nurse behind the a counter busy at a computer. "I'm looking for a cop, she should have been brought in with an ambulance."

"Gunshot wound to the chest?" she asked, the boredom in her voice evident as she looked up at him from behind the rimless glasses.

"Yes, she was shot at a funeral."

"You're a family member?"

"I'm a co-worker."

The nurse didn't look too happy. "I'm sorry, I can't disclose personal information on a patient if you're not a family member."

"But…"

"But nothing," she insisted. "You're not a family member, you'll have to wait until one comes in."

He barely refrained himself from punching the counter. "Couldn't you make an exception, just for once? She's my friend and it's my fault she got shot!"

"Did you pull the trigger?"

"No, but…"

"Then sit down and wait for her family to come in! Her father is already on the way, now go and sit there in the waiting room!"

 _For fuck's sake…_ he thought as he finally obeyed the nurse and sat in the closest chair available, in a corridor that led deeper into the emergency room. People came and went in front of him, mostly doctors and nurses, a constant flow of medical personnel followed by a droning noise of voices, carts being dragged around, doors opening and closing. The usual noises of a buzzing emergency room, nothing he had never heard.

For a moment, he remembered the time, when Alexis was eight or nine, when they were playing in Central Park. It was one of the first few times they had felt safe enough to go out after 9/11, it was a sunny warm day of mid-October and after over a month praying no one would call him in the middle of the night for some secret mission on the other side of the world, they just wanted to go out. And they went to Central Park to play, Alexis taught him some tricks she had learned at soccer practice and he had tripped on the ball and sprained his wrist.

It wasn't anything big, but it had swelled and he had it checked up at the ER and Alexis was so worried, he couldn't keep her calm despite the fact that the doctors simply told him to put some ice and keep away from strenuous work for a couple of days.

Now though…

Esposito and Ryan finally appeared, escorting his mother, Alexis and Jim Beckett. The man looked like a soggy rag held together only by sheer strength of will as he asked the same obnoxious nurse news about his daughter. Ryan remained close to him, to give him some support.

"Told you nothing, right?" asked Esposito.

"Not even where they had taken her."

Ryan then walked past them. "Come on guys, we know where she is."

Still, they had to wait more outside the room where a small crowd of doctors and nurses was bustling around her. Voices filtered through the doors, but they couldn't really make out the words and no one came out to give Jim any news about his daughter.

The small group had to endure the excruciating wait until the doctors rushed outside the room, pushing the gurney with Beckett laying on it, tubes and wires attached everywhere. They stormed away from them screaming to let them pass and to keep the the elevator open.

One doctor stayed behind. "Family of Katherine Beckett?" he asked, pulling the protective disposable gown and the gloves off to throw them away.

Jim stood up. "Here, James Beckett, I'm her father."

"Mr. Beckett, your daughter sustained massive damage from the bullet. We were able to temporarily stop the bleeding, just enough to get her to the operating room but ahead of her there's some extensive surgery ahead of her."

"What are her chances?"

"Well, she's a young woman in great shape and no previously diagnosed health issues… I'll have to be honest Mr. Beckett, things don't look too good, but we have the best trauma team upstairs. They'll do their best to save her."

Castle barely managed to hold back a sob as the doctor spoke, while Jim was more stoic, despite the fact that his daughter was fighting for her life an undisclosed number of floors above them. He had never met her father, but damn if he wasn't a tough man, his face didn't show signs of distress, despite the terrible news the emergency doctor had just delivered.

 _It's all my fault…_

"What can we do now?" asked Jim Beckett.

"Right now, you can go upstairs and wait there for news. It will probably take a long time, so be prepared for a long wait. There are waiting rooms in the surgery ward, you can stay up there and wait," continued the doctor while he toyed with a pack of instant ice he had retrieved from a nearby cart. "Also, if you allow me, I feel like that man could benefit from an icepack, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to accept medical help." Castle huffed a chuckle. The doctor wasn't aware that he could hear him, but he was right about not accepting medical help. "Would you try to give him this? It would make that black eye less painful."

Jim Beckett nodded and took the pack from the doctor. "I'll try, but that boy looks stubborn, I don't know if I'll convince him."

"Well, at least you can try. Now, I have more patients to check on. If you'll excuse me…"

Once the doctor had left, the group headed to the elevator, with Castle lingering behind them. He wasn't exactly sure he was welcome among them. The guilt made him think that they blamed him for what had happened, as he was already doing to himself, and he didn't really want to disrupt their wait. He felt the prickling feeling of an oncoming panic attack already growing, behind his neck, like a cold grip that tugged him into the altered reality his mind loved so much to conjure at the worst times.

They had finally reached the elevator, but he didn't step in with the others. "You go up, I'll… I'll take the stairs. I don't like cramped spaces."

Before the doors closed, he noticed his mother and daughter exchanging a worried look, but they didn't say anything as he walked towards the service staircase and slowly climbed it, one step at a time. It felt like climbing a mountain.

Once he reached the surgical ward, he stopped, before he opened the door, he stopped, hand held inches away from the handle, trying to find the courage to actually walk in. What if she had died while they moved upstairs? What if the doctors were fighting a battle they had already lost? The sniper had used a rifle that employed a type of ammo extremely fast, with great penetration power. He doubted that the sniper was a trained marksman, he had taken the shot from around fifty meters away from the podium, he just really wanted to hit the target and had got as close as possible without being detected, there was a chance that he had missed the heart.

But there was also a chance that it had hit it.

What if he walked out of the staircase only to be told that Beckett hadn't made it?

The staircase felt safe though. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him, after all. Also, it would be easier to avoid a panic attack in there, as it was way calmer than the waiting room, not as many loud noises too similar to gunfire that could trigger it, so he sat on one of the steps and waited. Probably for an hour, maybe more, until the door opened and Jim Beckett appeared.

Silently, the older man sat beside him and handed him the instant ice pack. "At least I didn't break the seal one hour ago."

Castle grumbled a guttural thank you, broke the seal and the liquid immediately turned into a cold solid, which he placed over his eye. Not that it would have made a difference, two hours after the initial punch.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, watching a drop of blood fall from his left pinkie land in the small pool on the floor.

"Did you pull the trigger?" asked Jim. Castle shook his head. "As I suspected. I saw what you did, trying to push her away and then chase the sniper. Except for Lanie, you did more than anyone combined, you don't have to apologize for it."

"Only because my first aid training is confined to extracting bullets from limbs with knifes and setting fractures with fallen branches or random metal sticks, that's Lanie's field. Chasing bad guys my turf though."

Jim chuckled. "Katie told me you had a weird sense of humor."

"My sense of humor tends to suck when a person I care about is lying on an operating table, fighting for her life."

"I hear you… why don't you come out though? The chairs are not too comfortable but they're still better than the stairs."

"It's too noisy out there," he admitted. "I'm a bit stressed now and… I don't really want to have a panic attack. It's not… it's not a pretty sight."

"I see…" the older man replied, pensive. "Do you need anything? Water, coffee… some gauze for that wound?"

"I'm fine now. Just… could you keep me posted, in case there are news?"

Jim patted his shoulders as he stood up. "Will do. But we'd all be extremely happy if you decided to come out with us. Esposito and Ryan have gone home to change and see if that the guy you caught is still alive, and your daughter is really worried about you."

"Tell her that I'm fine. How's my mother?"

"She went home about half an hour ago to pick something clean for you to wear. She should be here any moment."

He disappeared behind the door, leaving him alone again. The ice pack against his eye soothed the pain a little, but as Jim had mentioned the still bleeding stab wound on his bicep, he became acutely aware of it. It was starting to hurt.

Gingerly, he removed the jacket and inspected the wound. It wasn't too deep, after all the blade that had caused it was sharp but short, it hadn't done much damage. The shirt sleeve was soaked down to the cuff, but it had almost stopped oozing. Despite that he needed stitches, antiseptic and gauze. All things that could be provided by the staff down in the ER, if he had enough patience to wait in line in the triage.

Patience he didn't have. But he had some first aid training and a more than decent ability to sneak around. It was like stealing candy from a toddler, a big emergency had come in and the staff didn't care much of the carts left unattended in the hallways of the ER.

With something to do, even if that something was stitching himself up, he felt a little better. Surely, it wouldn't be the best suture in the world, but he didn't need a beautiful, neat scar to show off, he just wanted to stop bleeding. And he had stitched himself up a couple of times in the past, he knew what to do. Just, doing it on the staircase of one of New York best hospital, while he was surrounded by medical staff, was just stupid. Also, the position of the wound, on the outer part of his arm, made things difficult.

In the end, he had to give up. He needed someone else to do it, so he pulled himself together and strut outside the service staircase, headed to the waiting room. There, he found Alexis, Jim and Lanie, waiting for news.

"Dad!" his daughter exclaimed when he appeared in front of her. "My god I was so worried, how are you?"

"I need stitches," he declared. "Lanie, can you help me?"

"Castle!" she cried in disbelief. "You're in a hospital! Why don't you just go down and let doctors do their job?"

"Because it's not that serious and I would have to wait hours. So, will you help me? I would do it myself but I can't reach the wound. It's a simple stab wound, it will take five minutes!"

Lanie was just finishing up when his mother appeared with a duffle bag in her hand. "Oh Richard!" she whined in the most dramatic way. "Why do you always drag other people in your survivalist crap?"

He sighed. "Mother, it's not survivalist crap, it was the fastest way to get this wound stitched. I didn't really want to wait downstairs for hours just for… how many stitches?"

Lanie glared at him. "Five."

"At least he came out of the staircase," added Jim.

Still, Martha shook her head. "Go and get changed, when you're done. You look like you came out of a battlefield!"

Castle laughed. "Not even close, Mother, not even close."

* * *

After having changed into a more comfortable, and clean, pair of jeans and a comfortable black t-shirt, Castle now felt a little better. Not being covered in blood surely helped a lot for his mood. He was still on the verge of a panic attack, but he felt like he could control its onset better. It had taken a while to scrub off all the blood from his arm and hands, but after he had emerged from the restroom, he didn't feel like he hadn't had a run-in with a killer anymore.

He still looked like it, with the bandage around his bicep and the purplish bruise around his eye and cheekbone, but at least he felt better.

It was a matter of waiting. They sat in silence, huddled together on the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Jim was more composed, sitting up straight with his arms folded across his chest. Alexis took every chance she could get to get out of the ward, for any reason. Lanie paced up and down, exudating stress. Esposito and Ryan, after they had returned, stood one on each side of the double door, as if to guard it. Martha sat like a queen, reading a book she had brought along when she had gone home to grab some clean clothes for her son, occasionally checking her phone or sending a random text message.

On his part, Castle tried to sit as still as he could, leaned forward with his elbows resting over his thighs and his chin in his hands, eyes fixed on the white wall in front of him.

Everyone startled when the doors opened and a tall, young doctor came out. His scrubs were soaked with sweat and he looked like he had just fought a horde of demons straight out of a nightmare. His eyes were the ones of a shellshocked person. Probably the same look that still lingered on Castle, as he randomly zoned off in his wake.

"Family of Kate Beckett?" the doctor asked.

Jim stood. "Yes."

"Doctor Davidson, I was the surgeon that performed the surgery on your daughter." They shook hands. "She's stable now, her condition is still critical but we've stabilized her. We had to repair damage done to her lung, heart, and a small tear in the diaphragm, it took a lot of time but we should have pinpointed everything and repaired it."

"Will she be alright?"

"Mr. Beckett, unfortunately she flatlined a couple of times, we were ready to kickstart her heart again, but you never know how alright a person who sustained such damages can be until she wakes up. She's a fighter though, so the odds are favorable."

Everyone pulled a collective sigh of relief.

"Can I see her?"

The surgeon nodded. "They're taking her to ICU at the moment. I'll send for a nurse when they'll have her settled so you can see her. We're keeping her sedated for the time being, so she'll be asleep, but I'm sure she'll appreciate your presence."

Her father nodded. "Thank you Dr. Davidson, for saving my daughter."

The surgeon smiled, affably. "No need, Mr. Beckett. I just did my job. Now, wait here."

The tension that had gripped the group suddenly released itself and everyone looked like a deflated balloon. "Thank God…" murmured Esposito. "Come on Kev, time to see if Cole Maddox is ready to talk."

Castle suddenly raised his head. "The sniper? You have a name?"

"It's fake. But yes, your guy is now awake. You pulled a good number on him, doctors are skeptical about his recovery, you severed tendons, muscles, nerves and ligaments in both his arms, he probably will only recover thirty percent of the use of his arms," explained Ryan.

"He'll never pull a trigger again, then."

"Well, could be worse, right?" added Martha.

"We'll see if he'll talk. Come on."

The two detectives disappeared down the corridor.

"One less killer in the world," murmured Castle. "Mother… take Alexis home."

"You're not coming?" asked Alexis.

"I just…" He took a shaky breath and hugged his daughter. "I just want to make sure she's alright. I'll wait here until she wakes, then I'll come home."

She nodded against his chest. "Call if you need anything. Do you want me to bring your laptop here? A book maybe?"

"No Pumpkin," he told her, smiling. "Just go home and rest. I'll be fine here."

"Don't worry Alexis," interjected Lanie from behind them. "I'll take good care of your father. I'm staying here, so we'll keep each other company, one way or another."

That way, or another, meant that the ME dragged Castle to a nearby diner to make him eat and drink something almost healthy. She forced him to eat and drink plenty of water. "You don't look too good," she had said, pouring another glass of water from the bottle.

"Well, try to being forced to fight against a trained mercenary at a funeral…" he had replied.

"Thank you, though. For trying to save her."

His lips turned upward in a brief smile. "I just wish I had moved sooner. Maybe I could have…"

"Hey Tin Soldier, you did what you could. No one asked you to hunt the sniper, but you did. And you caught him. That's more than what everyone else did, at the funeral."

"You know, Mr. Beckett said the same thing."

She nodded. "Because it's true. Now come on, let's go back. I'd like to give Mr. Beckett some time off. He a tough cookie but… after what happened with his wife, I don't really want him to bear all the stress on his shoulders."

"Why? What happened?"

"After Beckett's mom was murdered, he turned to the bottle. He's sober now but… I don't want him to bear the brunt of it."

* * *

They managed to convince the staff to allow Castle in her ICU room. It was completely against all rules, but Jim, completely drained by the tragic events of the day, had pulled out his best exhortation to let him in the room for the night. Castle had no freaking idea how the lawyer had managed to do it, but as he sat at her bedside, he was extremely grateful.

He couldn't deny it, she looked bad. She was pale, the skin around her eyes dark… she definitely looked like someone who had taken a bullet to the chest.

She was still on the ventilator, she had a chest drain, a number of other tubes and needles stuck everywhere, but at least her heart still beat on its own. No need for pacemakers or other medical gizmos to keep it pumping blood in her body.

Kate Beckett was a fighter.

Around midnight, the nurse of the night shift came to take a look at her vitals, she checked all the tubes, changed one of the IV bags and took a peek at the bandages to make sure everything was still in place. After updating the chart, she left them alone in the small, cramped single room the hospital had reserved her, given the exceptional situation.

Castle observed a quiet vigil, not even turning on the light in the room except for the mandatory light over her head that couldn't be turned off. Sometimes, when he felt a surge of bravery course through him, he dared to touch her hand, gently press his thumb over her palm, drawing letters and full sentences at times, just to feel some reassurance.

Her hand was warm, despite the slight chill that lingered in room. He took it as a good sign.

"I'm sorry Kate…" he whispered at the break of dawn. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this, I had no right to do it."

Not that he expected any kind of response, but he hoped that hearing his voice, she would respond in some way. He would have considered himself satisfied if she just twitched a finger.

"I was a selfish prick, I… When I barged in the precinct that day with my _file_ , that thing I had the nerve to call _evidence_ of a worldwide conspiracy… I didn't do it for the city of New York. I did it for myself, because I'm a selfish idiot. I just wanted to feel the thrill of the hunt again, to pretend I was still a black ops agent that could save the world armed with a silenced gun and nothing else."

Tears fell freely from his eyes then, and he didn't care if the cop stationed outside the room could hear him sob like a teenage boy heartbroken over his first crush.

"I used to think I was invincible. It's the thrill of the battle, you know… you may learn to control adrenaline and panic, the fight or flight reaction… but that excitement you feel in battle, that surge of power that courses through your body when you pull the trigger and you hit an enemy… it's addictive. One of the many reasons I'm so fucked up is because I did enjoy killing and the rush that came after it. I've killed, often, in a number of different ways. I've sniped patrol guards from higher ground, I've slipped through mud and muck to drown soldiers in the swamps of Central Africa… I've shot people I considered friends and colleagues in cold blood, because I was ordered to. Then I came home and… and I couldn't do it anymore. I tried to use writing as a coping mechanism, but the thrill of a good review on the New York Times is nothing, compared with the pure bliss of the hunt. I guess that's what made me such an excellent agent for FOXHOUND, I actually enjoyed what I did. I wanted to be like James Bond, but I turned into a monster."

He looked outside, the rising sun's light was reflecting on the smooth, glass surface of the building in front of the room. It seemed like it was going to be a good day, one made for clocking out of work ahead of time and going to Central Park to enjoy some warmth and fresh air.

"And now they targeted you, to stop me. I don't know what I did to cause their wrath against me, maybe I thwarted one too many of their missions, or… I don't know Kate… I just know that it's my fault if they shot you. No matter what your father may say, about the fact that I didn't pull the trigger, I still put you in the crosshairs. Coonan may have been a fortuitous meeting, one that came with your job, but Lockwood? He was sent specifically to take us out. And this one too… Oh, by the way, I got him. He stabbed me in the arm, but I got him. I also have a black eye but… that's nothing. Lanie though is great with stitching, I'll have to tell her."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You know what makes everything even more strange? Montgomery… when he ordered me to get you out of that hangar, he spoke of my father. I think I told you, I… I never met my father. Mother had a one night stand with a random guy and whoops, I was born, but Montgomery seemed to be convinced he knew the man. I can't see why he would lie but… what would that mean? That my father is involved with LokSat? I swear, that would be the worst…"

The door opened and his mother's head peeked in. "Richard," she called. "Come outside for a moment."

"What are you doing here?"

"No time Richard, come outside!"

He stood from the chair and leaned close to her and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, then he joined Martha in the ICU corridor. "What's up?"

There was a small group of doctors and nurses behind her, Dr. Davidson too.

"Mother, what's going on?" he asked, alarmed. "Why are they here?"

"We're moving," she announced. "We need to move somewhere safe, and this hospital isn't one of them."

"And where do you want to go?"

"I've already arranged everything. Now let the doctors in so they can prepare Katherine for the transportation."

"But… where are we going?"

Someone placed a hand on his shoulders and Castle turned. In front of him, there was a man, roughly of his same height and build, dressed in a crisp gray suit, with a white dress shirt and a navy blue tie. What struck Castle though, was the thick white beard and the eyepatch on the right eye, the look of a rugged soldier that had seen a lot in his life. "Captain Rogers, there's no time to explain. We've got to move everyone involved in your investigation. Everything is ready for the extraction, you will be moved to a secure location outside US soil. You will be safe there."

At loss of words, Castle pulled back from the man and looked at his mother, then at him. "What's going on here? Who are you?"

"Jackson Hunt, but you may know me as Big Boss."

* * *

 **End Of Part One**

* * *

 _Word count:_ _41623_


	13. Words That Kill

**Part Two - A Heart Of Broken Glass Defiled**

 **Chapter Thirteen - Words That Kill**

Outside the ICU, a team of doctors Castle had never seen took over the responsibility. Hunt, the man that had presented himself as Big Boss, the legendary soldier, the bane of KGB during the Cold War, seemed to be their employer, they clearly answered to him and only him. As the team loaded Beckett's gurney on a non-descript van outfitted as an ambulance inside, he noticed that Dr. Davidson was part of the new team.

"Is he on your payroll?" asked Castle to the older man.

He nodded, brisk. "Yes. Josh is one of my contacts here in New York. Among others."

"Roy Montgomery too?"

"He was. One of the best. It saddened me, to know that he had died. Good thing I managed to find a great replacement to lead the 12th."

"Oh really?" Castle's voice was full of hate and contempt for the man. "By the way, who called you? Why the fuck are you here?"

Hunt pushed him on the ambulance. "We'll talk about that later, now we have to take you, your family, Detective Beckett and her father away from New York. Be prepared, we have a long journey ahead of us."

First it was the van ride to a secluded, private airport in New Jersey, where Castle found out that Hunt had gathered not only his family and Beckett's, but pretty much everyone tied to the investigation had been rounded up and brought there. There were Esposito and Lanie, sitting on a bench beside two army-issue duffle bags, and Ryan with a blonde girl just a little left of them. The famous Jenny O'Malley soon to be Ryan, if Castle had to guess. Then of course, Jim and Alexis. His mother had traveled with him, in the back of a town car.

No one looked too happy about being there, surrounded by a bunch of soldiers armed to the teeth with automatic rifles. Espo, in particular, looked really pissed off.

"Don't I get time to pack my own bag?" asked Castle as he stepped in the small hangar, a recurring theme at that point.

"Grams did it for you," said Alexis as she pointed at not one, but two army green duffle bags neatly placed beside her usual navy blue suitcase. "She threw nearly half of your wardrobe in those bags, I have no idea how she could cram so many things in there."

"She packed your arsenal too," added Esposito.

Beside his duffle bags, there were three rifle cases stacked onto one another. And the gun cases too. He opened them to check the contents, and found most of his handguns and all the paraphernalia related to them, the personalized M4A1 and the Remington M24, his sniper rifle of choice. He cringed at the sight of the long range weapon, given the happenings of the last few days.

Almost all his belongings had been packed up and brought there.

"Did you pack my laptop?" he asked Martha.

"Of course I did Richard!" she exclaimed. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I've been tasked with the gruelling task of briefing you. As you may have realized, your investigation has stirred some… negative feelings in some hierarchies. The kind of higher powers that would do everything to keep their power all neatly tucked in their greedy hands."

Castle noticed how his mother posed, like a drill sergeant, not a Broadway actress. Had she been watching Full Metal Jacket recently?

"The sniper that targeted Katherine is just the beginning. Therefor, you are officially under protective custody. The new captain of the 12th has been informed and has approved the measure. Same goes for your boss, Jim, and yours, Miss O'Malley. Given the adverse circumstances, they have agreed to let you keep your jobs, when this awful situation will be resolved and we will all be allowed to return home. Now, where we are going… life it's not going to be easy. We will be isolated from the world, while authorities investigate, for our own protection. Clear?"

Everyone nodded. "Great. Now, we have a plane to catch. We have a layover in Dubai, four more hours of flight then two hours on a helicopter to reach the destination. It's a sixteen hour long flight. Be ready for some boredom."

Castle scratched the back of his neck, unhappy about the prospect of such a long, tiring trip. A flight that long, with a layover in Dubai, meant they were going somewhere in the Indian Ocean, maybe even farther east. "It's a long way…" he murmured to himself.

"Yes," came the stern voice of Jackson Hunt. "But it's the safest place on earth for you, at the moment."

"Who says so?"

Hunt, Big Boss… whatever was his name, stared him down with his remaining eye. He was terrifying. "I do. Now take your things and stop being such an antagonistic pain in the ass, since I'm trying to save it. Don't believe everything that Campbell and Miller told you about me, half of it is untrue and the rest is rubbish."

"I find it hard to believe it. I've always been told that Big Boss was a myth, made up to scare the KGB, and his reputation was everything but spotless, with accusations of slavery, cruelty, employment of child soldiers, illegal detention of a nuke… now someone comes to _save_ us and claims to be Big Boss. What should I believe?"

"Believe what you want, but your mother trusts me. I've known her for forty seven years, is that a good enough reason?" the man spat out. "Now grab your things and hop on that plane. I'm not in the mood for fighting now."

With that, he walked away, towards the C-130 that was now rolling on the landing strip. The man, Hunt, was already pretty ahead with the years, but his stride was that of a proud soldier. The suit fit well, he filled it in the most perfect way, and yet he looked like he was more used to wearing a rough combat uniform and a pair of combat boots by the way he moved, not the tailored pants and jacket or the soft cotton of the dress shirt. He bore it all well, but he seemed like he felt out of place, in civilian clothes.

Just like him.

Still reluctant, Castle grabbed his bags and walked towards the area where everyone was amassing their baggage, then came back for the gun cases. On the way back, Alexis stopped him. "Dad," she asked, quiet and afraid. "Do you think we can trust him?"

He sighed. "I have no idea, Pumpkin. But Grams seems to trust him and… seems like they go a long way back."

"She's been very strange in the past couple of days, Dad. I don't understand…"

"Hush now, we'll be alright. We might not understand yet, but I think we can at least trust Grams. Come now, let's see where we're going."

Two soldiers loaded the luggage in the cargo hold, the secured it with bright orange safety nets. After that, they were escorted inside the refurbished military transport aircraft. This one had actual seats, not extremely uncomfortable racks of torture that made your ass go numb after thirty minutes sitting there. There was even an area, separated from the rest by some heavy duty tarp, that served to transport the sick and wounded and treat them in case of emergency. That's where the medical team was loading Kate on her gurney.

Once Castle had made sure that Alexis and his mother were all set and ready to go, he went to check on the still unconscious detective. He found Dr. Davidson with her, checking on her vitals. "How is she doing?"

The tall, handsome doctor raised his eyes from her chart and smiled. "Better than she looks. She still isn't out of the woods but… she's doing better. Her heart beats at a more stable rhythm and she's not showing any sign of distress," he explained. "We're going to keep a very close eye on her during the flight and see what happens."

Castle nodded and gently moved a lock of damp hair from her forehead. Her skin was clammy and pale, but warm. Not feverish, a healthy warmth that seeped through his skin and deep into his core, melting the outer layer of ice that had formed around his heart in the past few days. The fragile barrier that kept him from drowning.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

Dr. Davidson shrugged. "The Boss will tell you, when he deems it the right time. Now, Mr. Castle, we have to perform a few operations before take off, if you could be so kind to leave. You will be allowed here after takeoff, if you wish to stay with her."

Slightly annoyed, Castle left and sat in the seat left vacated, right beside his daughter, and fastened the seatbelt. Right opposite of him, sat Esposito, his right leg jumped up and down in frantic rhythm dictated by overstimulated nerves. "Never seen a C-130 like this," he said, trying to break the thick, awkward silence that had befallen over the group.

"Wish the Army had them, back in the day. These are top of the line seats!" commented Castle, a futile attempt to liven the atmosphere.

"Castle," started Ryan. "You said that Big Boss was a myth. And now he basically kidnapped us. What the hell is going on?"

"Guys… I'm at a loss. For years people told me that Big Boss was this kind of larger than life legend the CIA had created in order to spread fear to the KGB. Then when I was drafted in FOXHOUND I was told he was a real soldier that had left the US army after a mission went bad in 1964 and that he had created his own private army that operated in South America in the seventies and Central Africa and Afghanistan in the eighties, and that his rap sheet isn't exactly spotless. I never believed it though, I've always thought that it was just a lie. It could be that this man has appropriated the name and now lives carrying it around to make people fear him."

"Like that would be easy, Richard," interjected Martha. "Listen to me, gentlemen. Jackson Hunt is the only man that can save your sorry butts at the moment. He may or may not be who you think he is, who he claims he is, but right now, he's the only one that can actually make a move against those people you pissed off. And before you ask me why I know this, I'll tell you. Not now, but I'll tell you."

Her words, spoken in such a curt, dry tone, felt like a knife slowly pushed through his ribs. His own mother, the only person outside of his handling officers he had always told everything, his go-to confidant since forever was now turning into the worst liar of all. She clearly knew things, important things, she had ties with the man claiming to be Big Boss, who also claimed to having known his mother for nearly fifty years. And she had withheld those things from her own son, after he had gone through hell and had come back, only to go again, and again and again.

He could feel the rage prickling in the back of his neck, the tension building quickly into a massive headache. He tried to relax against the back of the seat, but the rigid tendons didn't give way. "Mother, you're not making things better," he stated.

"Sure I'm not. It wasn't my intent. This is serious, you messed up big time, and now it's up to Jackson to fix this mess."

"And you just happen to know the man?" he snapped. "Like you just forgot to tell your own son you're acquainted with the man who founded FOXHOUND? Nice way to tell me, really."

Castle was livid and not exactly in the mood to listen her excuses. Martha must have sensed that, because she didn't reply and turned away from him.

Castle felt like a ticking bomb. Lately, he had experienced that awful sensation of mixed rage and regret that made him feel like something was compressing him, trying to make him fit in a container too small for him. Like his pathetic attempt to get back to the civilian life, disguising himself as a mystery writer.

If only he had gone ahead with the private investigation agency, maybe things would have been very different at that point.

Hunt appeared from behind one of the heavy tarps. "We're ready for take off. Please, strap yourself to the seat and get yourself comfortable. As soon as we're at cruise height, you'll be free to roam around as you wish." He disappeared again just as the military plane started rolling on the landing strip of the airport. Esposito wasn't exactly happy about it.

"Motion sickness?" asked Ryan.

Esposito nodded. "Yeah. It doesn't mix well with bad memories too."

"Know the feeling," murmured Castle.

The pilot was skilled and brought them up in the air without an itch and soon they were free to move around. Not that there were much to do, anyway, but as soon as another man in combat apparel appeared from behind the tarp and announced that they were free to move, Castle bolted from his seat and resumed his vigil over Kate. Guilt ridden and still running on the fumes of the adrenaline rush of the funeral, he didn't feel like remaining in the replica of a first class cabin, buzzing with people facing the unknown and fretting about it.

The calm compartment where they had set the top-grade hospital room felt better for his overworked brain.

He took a chair and dragged it to the side of the bed and sat there. Below the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the swooshing sound of the respirator, only the constant humming of the engines filled the silence. It was a droning sound that hypnotizes him, enough to calm him, reduce him to a state of defeated quietness that made him deflate like a popped balloon.

He sagged on the chair, his head crossed on the gurney beside her leg and head pillowed on them, then he released a long, shaky sigh. "I'm sorry…"

No reply, of course.

Castle turned his head slightly, enough so he could take a peek at her face. Her face was slightly turned towards him, her eyes, with the long lashes still carrying a hint of makeup, were closed shut, circled by big shadows that made her look a bit like a panda. The pale green tube holder, strapped with velcro behind her head, hid most of her face and made the pallor of her skin stand out even more. And even with all that had happened, barely twenty two hours before, Kate Beckett managed to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I wish you could see the plane…" he muttered, as if to maintain a conversation with her. "I have no idea how they did it, but they managed to refurbish a C-130 of the Vietnam era I think. They have these heavy tarps hanging everywhere that create rooms and they made a… let's call it lounge, with first class grade seats, a minibar, everything you may want on a long distance flight. A flight it looks you will spend sleeping." He sighed. "Well, no jet lag for you."

Someone moved the tarp behind him. It was Jim. "How is she doing?"

Castle shrugged and ran a finger across the back of her hand, along the ridge of her knuckles. "Okay, I guess. Dr. Davidson seemed positive, but… I have no idea."

Her father put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "And you? How's your arm?"

"I'll be fine when she wakes up. And my arm is fine, I've had worse."

"The fact that you had worse doesn't make that wound less important. Have you slept?" Castle shook his head. "Why don't you lay down for a couple of hours?"

"With all the due respect, Mr. Beckett, I don't want to leave her alone."

"We can take turns, you know. Give you some reprieve. Katie was shot, but you didn't exactly take a walk in the park."

Castle understood what Jim was trying to say and saw his point, but the gut-wrenching guilt he was feeling made it impossible for him to leave her bedside. Kate had gotten shot because of him, because of his egotistical selfishness. No way he would leave that _room_ until he was sure she would be alright, even if it meant that he would not sleep, eat or even go to the restroom in the next few hours.

"Again, with all the due respect sir, I'm not going to leave her."

"I see…" said Jim, defeated. "I'll go speak to Dr. Davidson then. Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? There's nearly everything."

"A cup of coffee would be nice, thank you."

* * *

 _Word Count:_ _44477_


	14. Would You Speak Them To Me

**Chapter Fourteen - Would You Speak Them To Me**

The flight was boring as hell. Nothing happened. Not even turbulence. Doctors and nurses came and went, checked Beckett's vitals, changed IV bags, injected medications in said IVs. It looked like a routine flight. Even the layover in Dubai was boring.

The plane just needed to be refuelled and undergo usual maintenance, less than thirty minutes of work on it, but they were allowed walk out of it and stretch their legs. Even Castle, as he had been forcibly removed from Kate's bedside as the medical team performed some procedures on her to ensure her wellbeing for the rest of the trip.

The airport was clearly private owned, not trafficked at all, but almost silent, except for the noises of the normal activity in a small airport. They were in the middle of the desert, but on the horizon Castle could see the pinnacles of the skyline of Dubai, far in the distance.

"You know Castle…" said Esposito, walking towards him. "After my last tour in Iraq, I had vowed I would have never seen a desert again in my life." He handed him a bottle of ice cold water. "Been submerged by sand often?"

Castle shrugged. "Not as often as you. I did a tour in Kuwait, but after I snuck in and out an Iraqi camp to retrieve some intel and no one saw me, I was drafted in FOXHOUND and things changed. I wasn't in the desert all the time."

"When was the last time you've been in the desert?"

"When I was sent to that camp in Afghanistan, when half of FOXHOUND was gunned down because our informant betrayed us."

Espo made a grimace. "Ah yes, I've read the mission report. Must have been tough."

"I didn't eat spicy food for a long while after that mission, let's just say that."

He patted him on the back. "She'll be fine. She's a tough cookie, she will be okay."

"You think so?"

Espo nodded. "I've seen her survive the explosion of her apartment and go back to work the next day, having slept only on the precinct couch for a couple of hours. I've seen her tackle guys three times her size, on high heels. I've seen her grasping at straws to find that dirty bomb, until she found it, all by herself. If there's someone that could survive a 7.62 to the heart, that's her."

He turned around and went back towards the small building behind them, where air conditioning made the blistering heat of the Middle Eastern sun more bearable, but Castle remained outside, repaired by a small dark tent hanging from the side of the building. They had spent hours in close quarters, they were going to spend more time in the same closed ambient and then who knew. He preferred to stay outside as much as he could, despite the heat making him sweat profusely, to the point that his black t-shirt was now soaked.

He needed a shower. And the stitches itched like hell.

He tried to tell himself that things would be fine, that his mother trusted Hunt so he should trust him too but… between what he had been told about the myth of Big Boss in the past and the fact that his mother had lied to him for years, about things he himself didn't understand.

He took a deep breath, the morning air was already hot and burned his lungs.

Things would be fine. One way or another, things would be fine. And if they weren't, he'd make them.

* * *

They boarded once again, and Castle resumed his place at Beckett's bedside. Despite his best efforts, he found himself dozing off in the chair, a couple of times. The repetitive sounds around him made him drowsy, and the imminent adrenaline crash made it easy to fall asleep.

He fought against it, but the stress of the last few days and the fact he hadn't had a full night of sleep in ages forced him to succumb to Morpheus soon after the C-130 took off.

Between the uncomfortable chair and his troubled mind, his sleep was plagued by horrible dreams and flashbacks that appeared behind his eyelids every time he shut his eyes and tried to relax. As a result, the couple of hours he tried to rest for a while turned into a nightmare, both because in the end he couldn't sleep for more than fifteen minutes without jerking awake screaming in terror, and because the chair he was sitting on was truly uncomfortable and made his back ache.

Rubbing his eyes to shove sleepiness away, Castle sighed. "I wish you would just wake up…" he whispered. "If I knew you'd be alright, I'd be able to rest and your father would stop pestering me. I get it that he's a lawyer, but damn he's insistent!"

Bone deep weariness weighed a ton, making his movements sluggish and uncoordinated as he gently grabbed her hand and held it in her own, running the pad of his thumb over her fingers, careful not to disturb the IV needle stuck in the central vein on the back of her hand. His heart did a somersault when he found her skin even warmer than before. It was the warmth of health, not the heat of fever. Just the night before, when he had first been allowed in her room, her hands were cold as ice. Now her fingers were warm and soft, but inert.

Doctors had said they were keeping her under light sedation until they reached their destination, but Castle found himself begging for her to wake up and give him a sign that she was going to be alright. And that almost physical need for her to wake up made him feel even worse because he knew how it felt to wake up from surgery to repair the damage of a bullet wound to the torso, the terrifying feeling of not being able to breathe but feeling your lungs work despite yourself, the inability to speak, to call for help…

After the botched mission in Afghanistan, where he had taken three bullets from an AK-74 - the same caliber that had hit her - on a diagonal line to the gut, he had woken alone in a dark room, still intubated, not knowing where he was or how he had got there, since the last thing he remembered was the warm sand beneath him and the bright blue sky above. Turned out he had been extracted from the operation zone and stabilized, then transported as fast as they could organize the flight to the American base in Ramstein, Germany, for the life-saving surgery. Only they had messed up with the dose of anesthetics and he had woken up before the predicted time. Between the terror coursing through his body from waking up that way and the pain from the bullets and the surgery, he was panicking, struggling with the little strength he had left to move and breathe. The fact that the doctors coming to aid him when the alarms of his heart monitor shrilled like an anti-aircraft siren spoke German, a language he didn't understand, didn't help at all.

He knew what she would go through, once the anesthesia wore off and she'd slowly climb back to consciousness, hoping that the two flatlines during her surgery hadn't caused collateral damages. The excruciating effort to get out of a thick fog of pain and cold that was the drug induced sleep after a massive surgery, the uncomfortable feeling of the tube down your throat, the first, clumsy attempt to draw a breath and the crippling fear, realizing that you can't breathe.

He was torn between needing her to wake up as soon as possible and wanting her to slowly come out of it only when the doctors deemed it suitable, so they would diminish the anaesthetic and assist her properly, as she woke up.

"Fuck…" he cursed under his breath. "I wish I had just brought you coffee that morning, not that damn file… maybe we would have just gone out for dinner, we wouldn't be flying around the world to an unknown location because someone put a bullet in your heart."

He laughed, softly. "Imagine that, a paranoid war vet that still believes in magic like me and a no-nonsense cop like you out for dinner. You would have doubted every single word I said. It would have been a nice date. I would have taken you to a small Italian restaurant, something really low key, I'm sure you would have appreciated. I don't know if you've ever been in Italy, but if you go down there and ask for spaghetti and meatballs they frown, roll their eyes, make them for you and pray that you won't ask for a cappuccino with them. It's an American mangling of something completely different. They make this fantastic meat sauce, it's braised for hours on low heat, and serve it with fresh pasta, something halfway between spaghetti and fettuccine. They call them tagliatelle. And this restaurant makes authentic Italian food, not what we think is Italian. It's a corner of Italy in the middle of Manhattan."

"I think I know the place," said Dr. Davidson as he entered the compartment to perform a check up on his patient. "You've been in Italy?"

Castle nodded. "Couple of times. Once for work, on a book tour, then with my daughter, on vacation. You?"

The doctor chuckled. "I wish. No, I've been in Haiti a couple of times, after the earthquake with Doctors Without Borders, and some other places too, but I've remained in the US pretty much all my life. The Boss needed me there, in case something like this happened."

Castle took a deep breath, releasing the air after a while in a booming way. "I wish I knew _something like this_ means."

"Captain Rogers, I understand you feel confused and battered, what happened to you in the past and in the last week surely entitles you to feel that way. I'm sure you're aware that there's someone pulling some very important strings. Strings that have caused major happenings in the world, after the Cuban Missiles Crisis. The Boss has been actively working to stop this someone for nearly fifty years now. As you have been, without even knowing it. The _something like this_ I spoke of, meant that I needed to be there in case you, or someone related or linked to you, got hurt, so I could immediately act and call for help."

"How long have you been on his payroll?"

Dr. Davidson paused what he was doing, as if to think about the right reply. "Something like ten years or so… I was approached while I was in Congo with Doctors Without Borders and we had to face a very bad, and unexpected, epidemic of lung parasites. Turned out these guys were trying to cause a hotbed for a tribal conflict by spreading this parasites and blame one of the two local tribes, so a bloody war would start and they would profit from it, by selling both parties weapons and other stuff."

Castle grunted. "Seems like they just love to do that."

"Indeed. The Boss came in the camp, brought a small box of the drug we desperately needed to cure the afflicted but we couldn't get our hands on and offered it for free. He had forty boxes packed on a truck, just outside. More than enough to cure all the cases we had and thousands more in the future, if we needed to. He only wanted my cooperation in return."

"That's how he picks up people? Make them join his ranks?"

"Sometimes. I have no idea how he recruits soldiers, I can only speak for myself. You'll have to ask him."

"I don't really want to…" said Castle. "The things I've heard about him…"

Dr. Davidson picked a stool and sat on the opposite side of the bed, in front of him. "What have you heard?"

"Things… not exactly pleasant. I've heard that he was one of the first agents of FOXHOUND when it was founded in the early sixties, that he was the man behind the mission that in 1964 threatened to spark a nuclear war with URSS. Then after the mission went down FOXHOUND was disbanded and he gave up on the US Army, founded his private military company and… bad things started happening. Strange nuclear explosions in Costa Rica, accusations of child soldiers employment, weird happenings in Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation… I've been told that once he had a working nuke, and seemed intentioned to use it for a time. That's what I've been told about the man called Big Boss."

Dr. Davidson nodded. "I've heard those things too. I've asked him, and he brought on evidence that disproved all those accusations. Only one, better, half is true. The nuke, it was real. He had snatched it away from a LokSat base in Costa Rica, and kept it hidden until he found a team of engineers that knew how to dismantle it. It took him a while though, that's why people thought he had a nuke and intended to use it."

It made sense. After all, it was common knowledge that the man called Big Boss operated in a clandestine state of being, technically he didn't exist. Most people in the military thought Big Boss was just a myth, like he had thought for years. A legend meant to scare the enemy, nothing more.

And yet…

"You say he's been working against LokSat for nearly fifty years?"

The doctor nodded. "From what I've been told, ever since 1965. Ever since he learned of his existence."

" _His_?" asked Castle. "You mean LokSat is a single man?"

"I don't know much, but yes, LokSat is a single man. He has a lot of people on his payroll, that's true, but what you call LokSat is a single man."

The intercom announced they'd be soon start the landing procedures.

"Go back to your seat, Captain. I need to give her a dose of anesthetic to keep her nice and sleeping until we reach our destination. We'll start waking her up only when we're all set up and ready to assist her."

Castle stood up and stretched his back. "Better, I know what it feels like to wake up with that tube down your throat. It's not pleasant."

"I know, I read your file. Now go and relax, the helicopter ride won't be as comfortable as this."

* * *

True to Dr. Davidson's words, the helicopter ride was just as bad as Castle remembered. The cramped space, rigid seats and constant noises of the rotor brought back more bad memories. Esposito didn't look too happy either and they found themselves chatting over the comm system embedded in their earmuffs about their favorite guns. At a certain point, one of the soldiers of Hunt's private army joined the conversation. It was enough to keep the two war veterans calm as they tried to distract themselves. In the end, almost everyone in the cabin, Jenny and Lanie included, got sucked in the chat. Only Hunt and Martha remained silent, deeply engrossed in the plain metal floor of the helicopter. That way, they managed to spend the couple of hours without anything major happening. No one had panic attacks, no one got overly anxious about the whole situation. In the end, by the time Alexis spotted something outside the window at her side.

"Oh my God Dad! Look at that!"

Castle followed his daughter's indications and looked outside. What he saw made his stomach shrink to the size of raisins. A few miles on their right there were offshore platforms scattered all around, each of them big enough to look like a fully functioning oil extraction platforms. He counted sixteen of them, all connected with long bridges, then he checked on the other side, only to see more platforms.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"That's home!" said the pilot. "Our fully functioning, fully autonomous little offshore nation. You'll like it, I promise."

"Pequod!" Hunt's voice boomed in the intercom, as he called the code name of the pilot. "Take us to the command platform. Queequeg!" He called the other pilot of the second helicopter, the one in charge of moving Kate, Jim and the medical team. "Head straight to the medical platform. Our patient needs to be taken to the ICU unit as soon as you can get there."

"Roger Boss!" screamed the other pilot.

"Where are we?" asked Ryan.

"East of the Seychelles," replied Hunt. "We've been calling this place home ever since 1975. We started out with a converted oil platform, and slowly we grew and built more platforms. We technically are an oil extraction company."

"But in reality, you are a private army?" inquired Esposito.

"Exactly, Lieutenant. We're a private army, and I'm their leader. Got anything to say?"

Esposito shook his head. "Nothing, Sir."

Ten minutes later, Pequod manoeuvred the helicopter on the landing zone. One of the soldiers opened the side door and Hunt stepped down. One by one, everyone followed him and there was a moment of common disorientation. Everyone looked around, marveled by the miracle of engineering they had before their eyes. The bright orange structure shined, not a trace of rust on the walls and pavements. A small crowd of fully geared soldiers had gathered there to salute their commander in chief.

"Welcome home Boss!"

"Rest easy guys. We've got some guests, I've already arranged for them to have individual cabins, Ocelot knows where to take them. Go and fetch him, he'll know what to do."

"But… is this what I think it is?" asked Castle, still turning around briskly every time he heard something.

"It is, Captain," said Hunt, calm and contained. "Welcome to Outer Heaven."

* * *

 _Word count: 47467_


	15. With Your Breath So Still

**Chapter Fifteen - With Your Breath So Still**

Outer Heaven.

The legendary nation of soldiers, for soldiers. The myth perpetrated by word of mouth by every man in any army all around the world, the place every soldier that actually liked being on a battlefield craved to find in order to be recruited there, for whatever reason.

Outer Heaven was home to the greatest private army in the world, the so called Diamond Dogs. Thousands of men and women hired for wetwork, not so legal dealings, covert ops from nations that didn't have an army or had one in shambles. Rumor had it that even the US Army had employed the soldiers of Outer Heaven from time to time for… things.

Even Esposito was shocked, as they watched Hunt walk away from the small group of people.

"Did he say what I think he said?"

Castle nodded, still not believing it. "Outer Heaven. Can you believe it?"

"Uh… I know I shouldn't believe him but… look around! Have you seen the insignia on the ground crew? That's the Diamond Dogs insignia!"

Espo was right. At that point, it was futile to reject what was blatant right before their eyes.

"Guess I have to believe it too…"

A young woman dressed in civilian clothes, a stark difference from the rest of the soldiers, armed to the teeth and dressed in camo BDUs of different colors, approached them. "Hi, I'm Hayley Shipton, IT specialist and one of the heads of Intel unit. I've been sent to escort you to my boss' office, so he will explain you some things." She spoke in a soft, cheerful voice, infused with a strong English accent that felt a little bit out of place, considering everyone they had spoken to had an American accent of some kind. "Please follow me, it won't take long."

Silently, they were lead to the center of the platform and up long flights of stairs. In the early afternoon sun, the structures they walked on shone brightly of a deep orange color, it was almost blinding. Castle noticed that the place teemed with activity, with soldiers patrolling the decks, technicians running up and down with toolboxes in one hand and cables, wires and tubes in the other, people in civilian clothes, like Hayley, screaming in different languages to one another, that sort of thing.

Like people working in a small town to build something.

Hayley stopped in front of a door, passed a card in the electronic padlock beside it and it slid open. "Please, walk in. Ocelot will talk to you and answer all your questions."

Said office was a little cramped when they all walked in, but in the end everyone managed to find a place to stay comfortably. Behind a spartan desk covered in piles of sheets, books and an old computer, sat a man probably the same age as Hunt, but with longer white hair, a big mustache and sort of dressed like a cowboy. He seemed pretty engrossed in something written in a file he had in his hands.

When he noticed them, he smiled, placed the file on the cluttered desk and stood up to greet them. "Oh my God Martha! How lovely to see you!" he exclaimed.

Castle felt the stab of curiosity mixed grief slash his guts as his mother and the older cowboy hugged like old friends. "How long has it been?"

"Oh, Adam, way too long dear, way too long. 1971, wasn't it?"

"I guess so. Really too long Martha. We've missed your quipping and unsolicited, though always right, advice."

"Adam, Adam, Adam… flattery will get you nowhere…"

Castle barely held back a grunt, when the man smiled in a way he could only describe as lewd. "And I don't intend to go nowhere. Anyway… Welcome on Mother Base, I'm Adam, but people call me Revolver Ocelot, or simply Ocelot, so don't bother with the real name, I don't even answer to it most of the time. Anyway… I know you must be pretty upset, given the happenings of the last few days and the long journey. The Boss has probably mentioned that we have individual cabins ready for you, in the guest section of the main dormitory. Your bags are being brought there in this very moment."

He pulled some gray folders from a bigger pile of paper and handed one to each of them. Each folder was labelled with their names. "Here are your badges, with RFID identification system, a map of the base with areas marked as accessible or inaccessible, for now, and some info about Mother Base. There are rules to follow, mind it."

"Rules?" asked Ryan.

"There are places you cannot go. Armory, R&D department, Intel platforms are forbidden to anyone except those assigned to that unit, things like that. Everything is listed in the little book in the file. They're very easy to follow, and they're there to keep you safe and everything. It's not that we want to keep you closed in your cabins or lock you up in a cell. Oh, and you'll be asked to work, once you've acclimatized with the place."

Jenny let out a sigh of relief. "Oh God thank you!"

Ocelot smiled beneath the thick mustache. "Offshore bases are boring, if you have nothing to do. We'll look for tasks apt to your skills and professions. Has the Boss mentioned that all your bosses are aware that you had to disappear for safety reasons? Because we dealt with that a couple of days ago, all your jobs are safe. So is your school career, Miss Castle. We've talked with your school and you'll be allowed to have your exams here. I'm only sorry that you won't be able to participate the festivities for your diploma, if things protract more than expected."

Alexis grabbed her father's hand. "Oh… really?"

"Yes. I know it sounds strange, but we have children here, and teenagers like you. And we have schools. At the eyes of the world, we are a very big offshore oil and natural gas plant that works around the clock, every day of the year and that gives their workers a place to live with their families. That means children, and that means schools. You can join them whenever you wish."

Alexis looked up at him, her eyes pleading him to let her go. "Alexis…" he spoke, softly. "Do what you want. You might have to remain here a while so… If you want to go, go, I'm not going to stop you."

"Thanks Dad…"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in a tight hug. "No problem Pumpkin."

"Anyway… we'll talk about your future employment in a couple of days, after you've acquainted yourself with the place. Now, any questions?"

"What are the services?" asked Lanie. "I mean, where do we do our laundry, where do we eat, stuff like that."

Ocelot nodded. "Good questions. Let's start with the basics. Breakfast is served from 5 AM to 9 AM. Lunch from 12 PM to 3 PM and dinner is served from 6 PM to 9 PM. The mess hall is on the third deck of the Commanding Platform, you'll find it on the map. It's not hard to find, believe me. Each of your cabin has a small attached bathroom, with toilet, sink and a shower. It's basic, but functioning. For the laundry, I know you probably packed your clothes, but I highly suggest you just use our standard issues uniforms. We can provide you with clothes suitable for this place, so in case anything bad happens, nothing gets ruined. Colors are a little unflattering, but no one will see you. What do you think?"

Castle and Esposito were totally unfazed by the idea of wearing BDUs or other types of uniforms, but the others didn't look too happy.

"Uh, if you don't want combat fatigues, we have denim and t-shirts too, just nothing too fancy," Ocelot quickly added, much to Jenny and Lanie's happiness. "But if you ask for our standard issue clothes, they'll be labelled as yours and when sent to central laundry they'll be washed and sent back to your cabin. Easy, right?"

It was a system very similar to that applied in every military base around the world. Similar clothing for everyone, labelled with the owner's name so they could be handed back after they had been laundered. Castle and Esposito, as former soldiers, were very acquainted with it, but for the rest of the group it was going to be a bit tough to accept it.

"I guess we will manage," sighed Jenny. "In the end, we don't need to stay here forever, right?"

The cowboy smiled again. "Oh Miss O'Malley, no, we don't plan on keeping you here for longer than needed. The moment this whole mess is over, you'll be hauled back to New York, safe and sound. Now, I bet the trip took a toll on you, why don't you go to your cabin and take a shower? You'll feel better."

* * *

Hayley kindly escorted them to the dormitory and to their cabins, four doors on one side of the corridor and five on the opposite one. Their names were written on the doors and their baggage sat in front of the correspondent cabin, neatly piled up so it wouldn't obstruct the passage.

"Here we are. Use the RFID badge on the padlock and it will unlock. The door will unlock only with your badge, or the pass partout used by our security team, but they won't come in unless there's an emergency," she explained. "Inside you'll find a box with that contains the basic kit you will need to carry with you at all times, such as the walkie talkie, the badge holder and other things. Now, there's still some time before dinner, relax for a while, we'll see you down in the mess hall."

"Miss Shipton?" called Castle.

"Please, Captain, call me Hayley."

"Hayley," he corrected himself. "Where did they take Kate?"

"Detective Beckett has been moved to our medical platform, north-west of here. I'll hang around for a while on the platform, when you're ready come downstairs, I'll take you there."

Castle nodded. "Thank you."

"No problem. Now go and take a shower, I'll be downstairs when you're ready."

Everyone disappeared in their cabins then, and so did Castle. On a rapid inspection, he found the room spacious but spartan. There was a cot pushed against the wall, standard army issue with a firm mattress and rough linens and blankets. On the opposite side, a desk with a chair and a drawer. Inside the closets, a selection of battle dress uniforms in various camouflage prints. He chuckled. Revolver Ocelot had already put some standard clothing in their rooms. He checked the tag and found his name already printed on it.

Just perfect.

Sighing, he checked the bathroom. Nothing fancy, but it seemed to be fully functional. And there was hot water, he found out checking the sink tap. A quick glance at his face in the mirror over it and he found himself startled by the haggard look he sported. Unshaven, a wide purple bruise over his left eye and cheek, not to mention the fact that it was obvious that he was sleep deprived, he looked like he had faced death and had come back.

Only that the one facing death was Kate and she hadn't come back yet.

With a sigh of weariness, he pulled his t-shirt off and threw it on the bed, then tugged the strings of his boots and pulled them off too, along with his jeans. Once naked, having ditched the bandage around his left arm too despite the freshly applied stitches, he turned on the shower and let the cold water run down his head and body. It was like a jolt of electricity coursing through his worn out limbs.

It felt good, the cold water washed away some of the weariness and some of the tension, but despite the shock treatment, his mind was still fuzzy with lack of sleep. He tried to process everything that had happened in the past twenty eight hours since Beckett had been shot but his thoughts were cloudy and hazy. He was just too tired to think clearly.

Had he been in decent conditions, his mother's behavior would have raised more suspicions than it had, at least in him. The others were probably already making up theories about her involvement with Big Boss in the past, but he just couldn't get past the painful fact that his mother had ties with a man considered a war criminal and part of his entourage. Pleasant ties, if the man called Ocelot's behavior was an indicator.

It hurt.

It really hurt. It was just the icing to the shitty cake that the whole situation had turned into.

His mother.

She had been the one to seize the day and save them all in the end. With a phone call to an old friend, apparently.

And he hadn't been even able to take Kate out of the crosshairs. Being at her side. And having noticed the sniper.

His mother, the flamboyant, extrovert, sometimes inappropriate Broadway actress had solved the problem. For the time being.

It hurt, and made him feel so useless.

"What happens next?" His words, barely whispered, were drowned in the thundering water around him. Lost down the drain, with the bloody and grimy remnants of the past day.

When he finally felt clean enough, he closed the water and towelled himself dry. There were some basic toiletries on the shelf beside the sink, and he went straight to the razor and the shaving cream. Not exactly the type he would buy for himself, but it had to do, although he was sure he'd get the worst razor burn of his life with that unsharpened single blade disposable razor. Getting dressed was easier, as he found everything he needed in the dresser. He chose a standard issue splitter camo fatigue, tucked the pants inside the boots and added the black tactical belt and vest his mother had packed from his own private equipment, then rolled the sleeves up above his elbows, to allow improved freedom of movement.

One of the rules explicitly written on the pamphlet Ocelot had given them mentioned that every overage trained person was supposed to always travel armed around the base. Diamond Dogs were constantly at war and although an enemy attack seemed improbably, they lived in a constant state of alertness, he had noticed it how everyone seemed armed in the base, so even guests like them were supposed to travel with a weapon on their person at any time.

Sighing, he strapped the thigh holster to his leg and slipped in his loaded handgun of choice, after having made sure that the safety was on. He was ready.

As she had said, Hayley was just downstairs, talking to a soldier.

"There you are, Captain! You look better with the uniform on!"

Castle shrugged. "I guess I'd look better than before even with a clown costume on, after a shower."

"Accommodation is acceptable?"

Another shrug. "I've slept in worse places. It's not home but… I guess it will do, if it means people I care about are safe now."

"Don't worry, they are. The Boss made sure of it. Come now, I've got the car ready."

"Car?"

She nodded. "Yes, car. There's a couple of miles from here to the medical platform. You want to walk?"

"Definitely no, I'm too tired for that." He let her lead him to the car, an open jeep from the eighties probably. "Oh, that's not a car, it's a relic of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan!"

Hayley laughed, hard. "It is, in fact. It was scavenged in Afghanistan in 1984! Almost all the vehicles we use on the base are old cars and trucks that are not suitable anymore for deployment. Jump in, come on. Your princess is waiting."

He did as ordered. "She's not my princess."

"Well, from what I've been told, you were her knight in an Army Dress Uniform yesterday." She turned the key and the old engine roared to life with a loud pop in the beginning.

"Ah, news travels fast, even on the other side of the world."

She nodded. "When you have enough connections, yes. And I'm one of the top ranking officers of Intel Unit so, yes, I know things."

The ride was mostly silent, until Castle decided to look around. "This place is huge!"

"Yes, it's actually bigger than the Vatican City, Republic of San Marino and Monaco added up. Most of Outer Heaven is made of water, but we make room count."

"Impressive, for an offshore structure. Mind if I ask a personal question?"

"Ask away, Captain."

"How were you recruited?"

She smiled. "I was in the Metropolitan Police Force for a while, but found the red tape a bit constricting, so I searched for something new. I was looking for jobs, a few years ago, and found a company that required IT techs, so I applied for an interview. That's it."

"And the fact that you work for a well known war criminal doesn't worry you?"

"Don't let the myth fool you, Captain. Big Boss The Myth, is a thing. Big Boss The Real Man, he's something else."

"What's he like?"

"He's a good leader, cares for his people and he's very concentrated on keeping the world as safe from LokSat as it's possible with our limited resources."

"So you basically work around the clock to stop this guy?" asked Castle as Hayley parked the jeep. Apparently, they had arrived.

"No," she replied candidly as she stepped off the old car. "We work to contrast LokSat when we manage to intercept him and his plans, easier said than done, or we would have acted before Detective Beckett ended in his crosshairs, quite literally. We tried to intercept LokSat agents, but they were faster. We have less contacts than them, and we were slower than them. Now come, the ICU unit is down here."

Unlike the rest of the base, the structure of the Medical Platform was painted white instead of bright orange. Maybe it was to make it easier to distinguish it from the helicopter, if they had to transport a critical patient.

There were armed guards all over the place. "Do you always keep such a tight security?"

"On Medical Platforms? Not really. But Jackson told us to treat Detective Beckett as a VIP, before he set off to collect you so we are treating her like a VIP. And this is the treatment for a VIP that needs to be protected. Better security, the best medical treatment money can buy, express delivery from one hospital to the other." She passed her ID card by the padlock and the door slid open. With all those sliding doors, Castle felt a little like being on a Star Wars set.

It was like walking in a normal, albeit less crowded, emergency room, like one you can find in any city of the western world. Doctors in olive green BDUs and white coats came and went around them as Hayley brought Castle to the intensive care unit, caring for patients that didn't seem in distress.

Among the rows of beds, he saw people, soldiers, holding hands bandaged in bloody gauze, a guy with a safety collar that had probably fallen from a scaffolding, a woman with a broken leg. Standard issues for any military hospital.

Hayley guided him upstairs then, out of the emergency room and, finally, to the ICU. There they found Dr. Davidson, unshaven and in clear need of some sleep, sitting on a chair in a corridor as he filled a form. "Josh?" called Hayley. "Is she set?"

The jet lagged doctor raised his head and smiled. "All set and comfortable in a real bed, not on a gurney. She started biting on the tube while we were in the helicopter as the sedative wore off, so as soon as we got here we've extubated her and she's breathing on her own, right now."

Clenching his fists, Castle thanked a God he didn't believe in for the small miracle.

"Will she be alright?" he asked.

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders. "We'll have to see. She opened her eyes a couple of times but didn't respond to commands, mostly because I doubt she could hear us with all the noise in the cockpit, and she fell asleep almost immediately. Those two times she flatlined worry me, but she's young and strong, I think she'll be fine. Give her some time to metabolize all the sedatives she's been given, and she should wake up for good. It's a matter of a couple of hours now, I think. Three tops."

"Can I see her?"

He nodded. "Sure thing. Her father's with her now, but, Hayley, I highly suggest you get him to his cabin so he can get some sleep. He's badly jet lagged and needs to sleep. I guess that if Captain Rogers stays with her, Mr. Beckett may be more inclined to get some sleep."

The intel agent chuckled. "Don't worry Josh, I'll do my best to convince him."

As they entered, Castle found out that Hayley's best was a bright smile, a kind word and a sincere, heartfelt request to follow her so she could show him his quarters. Stunned by the long trip and the weird surroundings, Jim found himself wrapped around the young, kind intel agent in less than a minute. A quick thank you to Castle for watching over Kate and Jim Beckett was being escorted to the Commanding Platform.

"She's good…" he commented as Dr. Davidson handed him a chair.

"One of our best. Now, Captain, I'm going to hand her over to the very capable Doctor Hunter, she should come down here soon to check on her. In case you notice any sign of distress, push that button and someone will rush here in ten seconds or less."

Castle nodded. "Will do, Dr. Davidson. And thank you."

"No need, Captain. Now, I think I'm going to sleep for a week. And you should do the same. There's another bed, behind that curtain. She won't be up and about for some hours, it's time you catch some shut eye yourself."

"Once I know she's alright, I will sleep. Up until then, it's my duty to watch over her."

The surgeon nodded. "Do as you please. You're an adult, you know your limits, just be careful that lack of sleep can impair your ability to judge what happens around you."

"Yes, it heightens my paranoid disorder, I get it. But I have it under control, I'm fine if I'm awake."

He nodded. "As you wish." Then he turned and left the room.

Only then Castle felt comfortable enough to look at her. She was still pale, but despite the chalky appearance of her skin, she didn't look too bad. Better than yesterday, at least.

He chuckled, when he noticed there were still traces of makeup around her eyes, highlighting her already long eyelashes in a way that was out of place, everything considering.

"You won't believe where we landed. We're on an offshore base, and except for the medical platform it's all painted in orange. They gave us individual rooms, I have no idea how your's is, but mine is… cozy, everything considered. I have no idea about how's the bed though. It looked rigid, not my favorite but I think I can manage. Surely your current bed looks nice and roomy."

He ran his hands through his still wet hair. "God I'm so tired…"

But he relentlessly held on consciousness, determined to let go and sleep only after she had woken up. He counted each breath she took, counted how many times air filled her damaged lungs per minute, as a way to pass time.

He met Dr. Hunter, a forty-something woman in civilian clothes and stark white coat that took over from Dr. Davidson as Beckett's caretaker for the time being. Along with medicines for her, the doctor, who insisted on being called Naomi, carried a tray with dinner for him.

"Oh, you didn't have to!" he tried when she placed the tray of food on a table beside him. "But… what time is it?"

"It's time you eat something," she said, a bright smile on her face. "And your mother called and told us you haven't eaten anything in the past thirty six hours. Now, I'm aware of your training and your resistance to lack of nourishment and sleep, but your family is worried. So I'm here to make sure you eat something at least."

Reluctantly, Castle took the tray and took a look at its contents. It didn't look too bad, just the classic hospital food for people that didn't need it to be too processed. He tried a forkful of pasta with simple tomato sauce and found it not only edible, but rather tasty, given the circumstances.

And the more he chewed, the more he found himself starving.

"Isn't it against hospital rules to eat in the ICU?" he asked as Dr. Hunter performed a quick check up on Beckett.

"It is, but you're a headstrong guy and we'd rather not fight with someone as stubborn as you. We're bending the rules because you seem to care a lot for this woman, and seriously… we don't want to fight."

He nodded. "How is she doing?"

"Everything considered, remarkably good. Reflexes are normal, pupils dilate and constrict at a normal rate… she looks good, given the circumstances. She's a tough one."

"So I've been told."

He noticed a movement from the bed. "Did she move?"

Naomi nodded, smiling. "Yes she did, she moved her hand. She's waking up, Captain."

"Call me Rick. Do I need to do something when she wakes?"

"Push the button so I can come and keep her calm. She's under some good painkillers, she shouldn't be in pain but you never know. I have to check on a patient now, but don't hesitate to call me if you need to."

The following were minutes of anxious waiting, checking for every movement she may make in her drug induced sleep. Her fingers twitched and he took her hand in his, grateful to feel the minute movements.

When her eyes started fluttering, his breath caught in his throat. "Come on Kate, wake up…"

He dared to touch her forehead, swiped the strands of hair away from her face as she turned towards his voice. "Wakie wakie, Kate…"

Her breathing hitched when she opened one eye, just enough for him to see the confusion mirrored in it as the room slowly came to focus. "Hey there, welcome back!" he greeted her, barely containing the tears of joy.

"Castle what…" Her voice was strained and raspy.

"You were shot. And then things… happened." He reached to the table where the remains of his meal rested, grabbed a clean plastic cup and poured some water for her. "Here, tiny sips, don't overdo." After she had drunk some water, he pushed the button to call Dr. Hunter.

"Black eye?"

"Long story, it's nothing though." The door opened and Dr. Hunter walked in. "Now listen to the doctor."

"Detective Beckett, welcome back to the world of the living," she said. "I'm Doctor Hunter, but call me Naomi, I don't like formalities. Now, you've been shot to the chest, and you were subject of a pretty invasive surgery. You understand?"

Beckett nodded, her fingers cramping around his own. "Yes, I understand."

"Good. Now, the most important thing to do at the moment is avoiding pneumonia, in your current condition it's a very dangerous thing. That means mobilizing you as soon as we can. I'm not talking of running a marathon tomorrow morning, but I'd like you to try and take a few steps tomorrow morning."

"Can I have someone to help?" she asked.

"Of course. I bet Captain Rogers here would promptly volunteer, if you asked him."

As Kate slowly turned her head to look at him, he shrugged, smiling. "Just ask."

"We'll see tomorrow," she replied, with a weak smile.

"Great. Now, I'm going to pull up the bed so you can sit, okay with that?" Beckett nodded again. "It might hurt, but I'll go slow."

Once she was seated upright and the pain caused by the strain had subsided, Dr. Hunter went on with the explanation of what had happened and what would come next for her on the road to recovery. Words Castle had already heard, eleven years prior. He knew the strain of physical therapy, the effects a bullet (or more) caused on the human body. He knew how long it had taken him to recover, and he was happy that it was only one bullet for her.

"Now," said Naomi after she was done with her dreadful tale. "I'm going to inform your father that you're awake. And Captain Rogers, I highly suggest you catch some sleep, now. You've been awake for too long now."

"I'll sleep when she'll sleep."

Beckett let out a strained laugh. "It will happen quite soon Castle, anesthesia hasn't worn off completely yet."

Naomi nodded. "Sleep will do you good, Kate. As good as physical therapy. About that, I'll bring here an incentive spirometer and I'll ask you to blow into it a couple of times per hour when you're awake. It will hurt, but it will keep your lungs moving and exercised. Can you do that for me?" Kate nodded. "Then I'll leave you two alone for a while. I bet you two need to talk about some things."

When Dr. Hunter finally left the room, Kate turned towards him, her eyes slightly hazy with the drugs still coursing through her system and weariness. "What happened?"

Castle took a deep breath. "A lot. A lot happened. It's going to take a while."

She chuckled, mirthlessly. "I've got all the time in the world."

"Then let's start from the beginning."

* * *

 _Word Count: 52491 And word count reached!_


	16. It Makes Me Believe

**Chapter Sixteen - It Makes Me Believe**

Beckett couldn't remain awake long. Between the large doses of anaesthetic she had been injected to keep her safe from injury during the transport from New York and the pain meds, she was loopy and drowsy, so she fell asleep again after her father managed to get to the medical platform. Reassured by Dr. Hunter and her kind, simple words about his daughter's conditions, the man finally let a smile lighten his face.

"Thank you Dr. Hunter, now I can rest easier," he said when Kate fell back to sleep.

"No need to thank me, Mr. Beckett. After all, Josh did all the work. My job still has to begin."

"You'll put her back on her feet?" he asked.

The doctor nodded and smiled. "That's my goal. I aim to get her back up and running in the briefest time possible. She already seemed pretty eager to get out bed, but I fear those were the meds talking. She'll be loopy for a couple of days, she'll probably forget things she said, or new people she met, it's a common side effect of the drugs she's been given so don't push her too much about things she may have said when she woke up."

"I see. Anything else we should know?"

Naomi shrugged. "Not much. She'll sleep a lot and she'll be in a lot of pain too. That can cause severe side effects, like depression, bursts of anger… many are complications of the pain meds, we can't keep her on morphine for too long, we'll have to switch to less effective pain management drugs soon and… let's say it, the bullet and the surgery caused some extensive damage, that alone will make her feel like crap for weeks, months maybe. Months during which she'll go through physical therapy, her body will relearn how to do a lot of things, her heart seems strong but who knows how it will endure the stress and everything. Be ready for some painful moments on the road."

She was honest, Castle had to admit it. He had never been shot in the chest, but he had suffered a bullet through the stomach and two others that had grazed his right side and left ribcage, not to mention other stuff like stab wounds, animal bites and blunt weapon bruises and broken bones, but that one bullet had given him issues for two years. It still did, after eleven years. Spicy food often gave him severe heartburn, but he was too stubborn to let go of chili.

"I see. You'll help her though, right?"

Again, Naomi nodded. "Of course. We have a whole team dedicated to pain management for patients, and believe me, we see a lot of bullet wounds here so we know how to treat them. Then there's a squad of physiotherapists for PT, down on the Combat Platform, where we have all the training facilities, gym included. We'll take good care of her, I promise." She smiled as she spoke, trying to be as reassuring as she could. "I'm certain Captain Rogers here will make sure we treat her like she deserves, and then some more."

He felt his face blush at the implication of the medic's words. She knew he wouldn't leave Beckett's side for anything in the world, to the point she had to bring him food, or he'd forget to eat too.

"And I trust the Captain with that," said Jim. "Now, don't think that I don't care about my daughter, but I see she's in good hands and I'm not so young anymore, I need to catch some sleep to get rid of the jet lag. I'll come back in the morning, if that's alright."

"Sure it is. Get some rest, you'll feel better tomorrow. I'll make sure the Captain here sleeps too."

Jim disappeared behind the door and the surgeon walked beside him, offering him a plastic cup of water. "Why don't you take a moment, freshen up in the bathroom and then finally occupy the spare bed Dr. Davidson was so kind to get for you?" she proposed. "You look like death incarnate, the dark circles under your eyes are so wide now that people in Mauritius can see them from here. How long has it been since the last time you slept?"

He shrugged, but accepted the cup. "I've slept, a little, on the flight here. It's not like I've been awake since the morning she's been shot."

"Still, your body clearly can't take anymore of this. You either go to sleep now, or I'll spike the next cup of water with Roipnol so you'll sleep for twenty four hours straight."

Castle laughed. "Alright, alright, I'll sleep. Just wake me up if she needs help, clear?"

And sleep he did. Finally knowing that Kate was going to be alright, despite the rocky road she had ahead of her, his steadfast refusal to just let weariness win over him had no reason to be anymore. The moment he lay his head on the pillow, he was dead to the world and remained so for ten good hours, before a giggly laughter disturbed his well deserved sleep.

He opened one eye and realized he was laying face down, mouth open and drool slipping on the now soaked pillow beneath his parted lips. "Someone's feeling chirpy this morning?" he mumbled, looking up at Kate on the bed opposite of his.

She giggled again. "Not chirpy, just high. Dr. Hunter just came by and gave me something and…"

"Oh, I get it." He sat up on the bed and stretched. His back popped, his neck cracked and his muscles ached. "You're drunk."

Beckett groaned and rolled her eyes. "Not drunk. High. I haven't drunk anything, except for water."

"Semantics, Detective. You're under the influence of strong opioids, not too much different than being drunk. I know the feeling, I've been shot too."

"Where?"

"Straight into the stomach. A burst from an AK, in Afghanistan. One bullet grazed my side, the other the ribs on the other side, and one single bullet got me straight into my stomach."

"How long did it take to recover from that?"

"Six months to be considered field operational. One year to go back to eat like before, though spicy food still gives me heartburn, from time to time," he explained. "You need anything?"

"A new healthy heart and the guy that shot me in prison?"

It was his time to chuckle. He sat beside her and took her hand in his. "Well, I can't do much about a new healthy heart, but the guy that shot you, if he isn't in prison, he's in custody in an hospital, back in New York."

"Why? Where are we? What happened?"

He sighed. "The _where are we thing_ is a bit tough to explain, but about what happened… after you were shot I just… I ran after the man. I found the sniper nest, followed the tracks and found him behind a tree. He tried to ambush me, but I was too angry to let him stop me. I tried to make him talk but he wouldn't so I… I caught him. I tied him with my necktie and brought him back to the others and got him arrested."

"Why is he in the hospital?"

"He gave me this black eye, stabbed me in the arm, tried to escape while I interrogated him… I just grabbed his knife and severed the tendons in both his arms. That's why he's in the hospital."

"Oh…" She sagged a bit into the pillows behind her back. "Thanks, I guess?"

"No need to thank me, I did it for my own pleasure. Had I been armed, he'd be dead. He's been lucky, that's all."

"Well, thank you. For everything."

"Let's see if you'll thank me once Dr. Hunter comes back in and orders you to stand up and walk around the room. How long have you been awake?" he asked. "Did you use the spirometer?"

She turned to the bedside table and looked at the small, plastic device. "I did, when Naomi gave me the morphine or whatever she had in that syringe. Still hurts."

"I know. It will hurt even more when you try to stand."

She released a low, strangled sigh. "Been there done that?" she asked.

With a longer sigh on his own, he nodded. "Yep. Been there done that. Now, if you don't mind, I need to take a leak."

* * *

They chatted a while more, despite the fact that Beckett seemed on the verge of falling asleep every ten minutes and that they couldn't talk about funny stuff because laughing made her feel like her body was ripped in two. About an hour after Castle had woken up, a nurse came in with two trays, one for Castle with a small breakfast and one for Beckett, with something that resembled breakfast, but looked more like baby food.

"Cheer up, Beckett, you don't even need to use a spoon. You could just use a straw and suck it all up," he joked, adding some milk to his coffee.

She grunted while she poked the mushy mass in the bowl that looked like soggy cereal with the spoon. "Really Castle?"

"Well, you're lucky you can eat that, at least. I had a tube down my nose for two weeks after I got shot."

"That's awful," she muttered.

"Yep. Now eat, and if you feel nauseated, stop right then. Drugs and food sometimes don't mix too well."

In that moment, Dr. Hunter walked in. "Wise words Captain. Now, Detective, after you dose of pain meds earlier this morning, how do you feel?"

"Not too bad. I mean, it hurts all over, talking makes me breathless and…" she paused to catch her breath, right on cue. "And I generally feel like roadkill but… it's better than expected. I thought I wouldn't be able to speak at all."

The surgeon nodded and sat on a chair on the opposite side from Castle, then she took the thick folder hanging from the railing with all the details on her conditions. "Good to know. Now, Detective, we have to talk about the course of action. Do you remember yesterday, we talked about some stuff." Kate nodded. "Good. I've had you use the spirometer this morning, and you said it hurt bad. Would you do it again?"

Castle could read in on her face that she wasn't happy about it, but she did. The little plastic disk inside the device barely raised from the bottom of the graduated cylinder even if she blew into it with all her strength. Which wasn't much, evidently. She lost all color, her face twisted into a pained grimace and she sagged back on the pillows with a strangled grunt of exhaustion.

"Well done Detective, rest now, if you manage to get out of bed even for a while I won't ask you to do this again for the next three hours."

"What a bargain," she whispered, grimly.

"I like sarcasm, means your spirits are intact. I'd like to see this spirit even when we switch you off morphine and to oxycodone, or another type of opioid. Right now morphine masks much of the pain and the stress your body is feeling and as we wean you off it, you'll start feel worse. Unfortunately, it's the healing process. We have all the resources to make the recovery road as pain-free as we can but we can't perform miracles. Not yet at least."

Castle chuckled. "And here I was, thinking you had all those military secrets like tiny robots healing you from the inside!"

"Those are videogames, Captain. Or your books. This is the real life, real wounds and real medicine, not red pixels and blue life bars that beep and flash when they get too low and you need to eat something to replenish it. We'll have to do with what we have."

"Don't listen to him, Dr. Hunter," she gasped, still out of breath from the attempt with the spirometer. "I'll take what you have."

"And what we have is top notch. Now, do you feel like trying to stand up straight for a while, maybe take a slow walk around the room?"

Kate threw a concerned glance towards him. "Do I really have to?"

"I'm afraid you have, if you don't, you put yourself at higher risk of pneumonia, and I highly doubt it would do you good."

Defeated, but determined, Kate looked at Castle and grabbed his hand. "Help me then."

He nodded, but Dr. Hunter stopped them. "Before that, we have to remove a few things from a few places. Would you please step outside, Captain?"

He couldn't refrain himself from grimacing, knowing perfectly well what she was talking about. He waited outside the room, for a while. During that time, his radio beeped. "Dad?" Alexis' voice came through the small speaker on the walkie talkie. "Dad you there?"

He plucked the radio from the belt and pressed the button. "I'm here Pumpkin, how are you?"

"As fine as I can be. Did you sleep?"

"Yes, Alexis, I slept. I was so tired I didn't even dream."

"That's great!" He could hear the relief in her voice even through the radio. "Did you get anything to eat?"

"I actually just finished breakfast. The guys here on the Medical Platform were kind enough to bring me both dinner and breakfast. I've stopped playing the hero, for a while. Oh and Kate is awake. In pain and slightly drugged, but awake."

"Yeah, we heard from Jim yesterday. Listen Dad… Hayley has offered to take me on a tour of the base, show me the classrooms and stuff, can I go?"

"Of course you can! Go wherever you want to go, if it makes you happy."

"Do you think we can trust these people?" she asked.

"Your grandmother seems to trust them, and I trust her. And Hayley seems a nice girl, I think you can trust her. Just… be wary of Jackson Hunt. And Ocelot. I don't like those two."

"Alright Dad, I'll steer away from them. I'll come by to visit later, 'k?"

"Whenever you want. Now go and have some fun, I'll be here all day."

As he clipped the radio to the belt, Dr. Hunter opened the door again and invited him in. Beckett was already sitting with her legs dangling from the side of the bed, hands gripping tightly the mattress at her sides to keep herself sitting straight. She didn't wear the hospital gown anymore, but more comfortable and decent blue sweatpants and a large t-shirt. The dark color made her pale skin stand out even more.

He quickly walked in front of her and grabbed her arms to keep her up straight but relieving some pressure from the damaged muscles of her torso. "Ready?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nope."

"I'll take that as a yes. Come on Beckett, you found a nuclear bomb nearly by yourself last winter, you can do this." He helped her slide down until her feet rested on the floor. "Now try to stand, I've got you."

He felt the subtle trembling in her body. "You won't let me fall?" she whispered, a thin sheen of sweat already coating her forehead.

"Never. I'll keep you up right, always," he replied with a smile as she moved her hands from the bed structure to his shoulders. "Remember, my shoulders are big enough."

The first step tore a pain-filled grunt from her. By the time she had taken three small steps away from the bed, she was crying. Castle kept watching over at Dr. Hunter while murmuring encouraging words in her ear, making her move slowly around the room. The surgeon seemed happy to see her patient up and walking, but there was a shadow that darkened her eyes as she observed them. He wondered what was running through her head as she observed what Castle could only describe as a torture session.

With a breathless whine, Kate sagged against his chest. He felt the cold sweat seep through the thick fabric of his uniform as he wrapped his arms around her to keep her up. He'd never let her fall, he had promised her he'd keep her up. "You did good Kate," he murmured, then he gently picked her up and placed her back on the bed. She was gasping for air, shivering in pain and pale as a ghost.

He gently wiped the sweat-soaked hair from her face and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "You did good," he repeated as she slowly caught her breath. "What do you think Dr. Hunter?"

"I think she did great, Captain." The woman walked up to the bed. "Rest easy now, I won't ask you to get out of bed for some hours more. And by that time, I bet you'll be able to take at least two more steps."

Beckett nodded. "I think I'm going to pass out..."

The doctor was quick to act. She pulled a mask from a hook on the wall behind the bed, opened a valve and placed the mask over her nose and mouth. "This will help. Now, when you feel up to it, eat something. I know it doesn't look like something edible, but give it a chance and add a bit of cranberry syrup. There's a small packet somewhere on the tray. I'll leave you be now. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

The oxygen helped, Beckett gained some color quite quickly and her breathing evened. Castle waited in complete silence to see if she fell asleep or remained awake, holding her hand in hers.

"Shoot me…" she murmured at some point, her voice distorted by the mask and the constant flow of air.

"Nope. I might be a trained killer, but I won't shoot an unarmed cripple."

"You certainly know how to woo a woman…"

"I could recite Shakespeare if you wish, but I doubt you'll be happy about it. My mother's the trained actor, not me."

She grunted and tried to settle down more comfortably on the bed. "Is it just me or it's really warm in here?"

Castle got up from the chair and opened the window to let some fresh ocean air in. "You'll feel better with the open window."

Beckett nodded and looked outside. "We're not in New York."

It was a statement, not a question. He sat down again. "No, we're not," he revealed. "Believe it or not, we're a few miles outside Seychelles territorial waters."

Despite the weariness, she managed to throw him _the look_. "You've got to be kidding!"

"Uh, no, I'm not kidding. You've been out for a while and… well, some friends of my mother came and… brought us here. It's an offshore plant, a bit like a standalone nation in the middle of the Indian Ocean. And people in charge seem to know my mother, very well."

"You don't look too happy about it…"

He shook his head. "I'm not. They basically kidnapped us, I didn't even have the time to go home and pack my own back, Mother and Alexis did it for me. And your dad did it for you."

"Fuck…" she cursed. "I bet he picked all the wrong stuff."

"No idea, a security guard placed your bag in your cabin and that's all I know."

Beckett nodded. "Go on. Why do you think your mother knows these guys?"

Castle shrugged. "Ain't got no clue. One of them spoke of 1971 or something like that. It's from before I was born though so… what bugs me is that… you remember when I told you about Shadow Moses and how the guys there wanted Big Boss?"

"Yeah, you told us he was a myth." She paused the take two short, gasping breaths from the mask. "Created by the CIA to scare the KGB and other agencies."

"Well… turns out he wasn't a myth. He's a man, now in his seventies or close and he's the commander in chief of this place. He's on first name basis with my mother." He pushed his hair back. "And I don't really like it."

"I bet."

He took a deep breath and then let it out loudly. "I shouldn't even tell you this… You're already in this shitty situation, I don't want to aggravate you with my own problems."

Even though visibly exhausted, Kate managed to pull herself up a little bit, enough to reach over the side bars of the bed and grab his hand tight in hers. "Hey Castle, we're in this together. I was shot in the chest, not the ears. I can still listen."

"There's not much to say, except that everyone here seems to be extremely friendly. And it creeps me out like hell. Only Hunt seems to be keeping distance. Everyone else… they're nice enough."

"Hunt?" she asked.

"Big Boss… he goes by the name of Jackson Hunt, apparently. My mother calls him Jackson, at least. I guess it's his real name or some sort of identity he uses outside the world of spies and black ops."

With her free hand, she pulled the mask off her face. "Can't be a coincidence." When she saw that she felt better with the oxygen, she put it back on.

"It's not. Apparently Hunt has been looking to contrast LokSat for nearly fifty years now. It's the ultimate goal of this whole organization. I have the feeling they're not telling us everything they know, but… I will dig. The moment your father walks in so you have company, I'll look around. The place is huge, but I'll investigate a while. And if Dr. Hunter deems it doable, I'll take you outside. It's a beautiful day and I bet some fresh air will be good for you."

"Just don't make me walk, not yet at least," she pleaded.

He smiled. "I bet I can find an elevator, somewhere around here. Don't worry, I'm good at finding things."

* * *

 _Word Count: 56177_


	17. In The Father Sins

**Chapter Seventeen - In The Father Sins**

They fell into a sort of routine, made of exhausting walks around the room or to and from the bathroom that left Beckett sweaty, hurting and completely wiped of all her energy. Castle still slept on the bed beside hers, despite every attempt she made to convince him she didn't need him to keep her company over night. But as the tiredness of the trip was replaced with energy he couldn't burn, sleepless nights became a staple.

He took some time to wander around the base, usually when doctors and nurses performed various procedures on her that she didn't wish him to see, or late at night, when she slept and he couldn't find solace in Morpheus' embrace.

It was like nothing he had seen in his life. He had seen massive military compounds, underground bases bigger than four football fields, but Outer Heaven was really as big as a small nation. Maybe bigger, if he had to listen to Hayley.

One night, three days after they had first set foot on Mother Base, when Kate had complained about all the noise his tossing and turning made, he decided to go out for a run, to blow off some steam so maybe he would finally get some rest. He asked one of the security guards if there was a place where he could get a pair of shorts and some adapt shoes and the soldier was kind enough to drive him straight to the Combat Unit platform and to the gym. There, another soldier provided him with everything he needed for a jog.

"Any recommended routes?" asked Castle as he tied the laces. "I don't have access to every platform and I don't want to get in trouble."

"Well, depends on how long you can run. I don't mind a ten miles course that goes from here to the fourth deck of the Support platform, goes around that and then goes to Base Development and back to here to shower. If you want to shorten it a bit, just go to the first deck of Support platform, that takes about three miles off the course," he explained carefully, showing him the route on a map he had at hand.

"Thank you, I'll see how I feel."

Over the course of a week, the longer route became his favorite. He was sure he wouldn't get into trouble and he could do some exercise. It also allowed him to see how big the base was. When he came back from the first run, showered and changed just as Kate received her breakfast tray, he couldn't help but tell her everything. Dr. Hunter allowed her to take short trips outside, on a wheelchair and only just outside the entrance of the ER, she hadn't seen much of the base yet, and it became a small ritual they performed every morning after her walk. The night he would wander around in his sleepless state, the morning after he'd tell her everything he had seen as she rested after her morning walk around the bed.

"Seems like a nice place, for an operative base of a private military company."

"Everything considered, it is," he confirmed. "Everything we need, they either have it or can procure it. Alexis needed a computer to keep up with school and they gave her a secured laptop, tailored to her needs. She's already well integrated with her class and she's back at her old self. In camo pants and jungle boots."

Kate smiled. "Yeah, she came up here yesterday, with my dad and your mother. They kept me company for a while, after I came back from PT."

"Lanie and the boys should come by later this afternoon. They're a bit caught up, you know… they've been put to work, Jenny too."

"Yes, they told me. And you? Haven't you been assigned to anything?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I don't know if it's because of my mother, or just because I don't want to leave you alone for too long and they don't want to fight me, but no, except some minor question here and there, I haven't been asked to do anything."

"You're basically my babysitter."

"Not your babysitter, your friend that got you in trouble and wants to make amends."

"Rick, you didn't pull the trigger."

"But I put you in the crosshairs. So let me be that friend that wants to make amends. For my own mental health. Would you?"

Kate nodded. "It's not like I can do much," she said with a groan. "I feel like crap this morning."

"PT got you to the limit yesterday?" he asked, slightly worried.

"No it's just… Now that they have taken me off morphine everything hurts more. And by everything I mean _everything._ Every morning I wake up and I feel worse than the day before. I'm not as nauseous anymore but it's a vicious cycle." She took a long pause and looked out of the open window behind him. "Walking wears me out, talking get me breathless, physical therapy seems to get me nowhere, I can't get out, I depend on people, I can't sleep at night because everything hurts."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall.

Sighing, Castle remained silent, as he didn't know what to say. He knew how she felt, the powerlessness that comes with wounds like hers. For the time being, she was stuck in the hospital ward, mostly because the base lacked elevators. There were some around the place, mostly where heavy loads were transported and in the hospital, of course, but Dr. Hunter wasn't keen on letting her roam around, given her weakened state. PT was still performed in her room, but except for the parking lot in front of the ER, she hadn't yet seen anything. Being confined probably made her feel like a caged animal.

A hurting caged animal.

He let her vent it out until she calmed down enough to answer a simple question.

"Why don't we take a walk outside today, instead of around the room and maybe down the corridor?" he proposed.

Kate sniffled, giving him a half shrug. "How? Dr. Hunter doesn't want me to roam around."

"What Dr. Hunter doesn't know can't hurt you, right? Come on." He stood and grabbed the wheelchair from the end of the bed. "Let's get you some fresh air and show you something new. The parking lot is horrible and today is a great day, sunny and warm. Let's see some ocean and if we're lucky, a brave dolphin will swim close enough to the base to see it."

They worked in tandem to have her sit up on the side of the bed and he quickly helped her to put on the simple pair of sneakers she used during her walks and physical therapy. Once she was ready, he helped her sit down on the chair and swiftly pushed her outside the room.

"What now?" she asked as he drove the chair towards the elevator.

"Let's make sure Dr. Hunter isn't around," he murmured. The sliding doors opened and he pushed her in. When the doors closed behind them, he pushed the button for the roof. "We should be safe now."

"Safe from what, Castle? Naomi is a civilian, you're a trained soldier! I'm as dangerous as a blind kitten but you? What could she do to stop you?"

He laughed, briefly. "Never underestimate the power of a good stare off. Also, doctors creep me out a little bit. She's nice, don't get me wrong, but… I've seen a large number of doctors in my life, and let's say they tend to intimidate me a little bit."

"You? Really?" She seemed amused. "Don't make me laugh, it still hurts."

"It wasn't my intention." The elevator finally stopped and the doors opened. "Come on, let's get you some real fresh air, not parking lot fresh air."

The moment he pushed the chair outside, he heard Beckett gasp. "Oh my god. Is this Mother Base?" she asked looking around.

From the top of the hospital ward, she could see everything she had missed in that first week and half of stay there. All the decks, the platforms, the boats patrolling the water borders, the cranes always moving to make buildings better, bigger, more functional. But most of all, she could finally see the great expanse of the blue water that merged with the bluest sky he had ever seen on the horizon.

"Oh my god you weren't joking, this place is huge!" she stated with a cry of surprise.

"Told you, it's a small nation." He pushed the chair to the railing so she could see better. "It's a legend, actually. The rumor of a nation made by soldiers for soldiers, Outer Heaven, has been circulating for nearly forty years, for what I know. I've always taken it for a legendary notion, but I guess that I was wrong."

"As you were wrong about Big Boss," she said, looking up at him. "He came by the other day, right after I finished PT. He seemed nice enough, if a little broody."

"More like ruthless. He commands a band of dangerous mercenaries, I don't really think that _broody_ describes him well enough. That man is darker than pitch black, I tell you."

"Have you talked to him, since we've been brought here?" she asked.

"Didn't have the pleasure. Why? You did?" He sat on one of the many external units of the air conditioning in front of her.

"Yes. Not for long, I was dead tired and he seemed very understanding about it but we talked. He came down with Dr. Hunter, we spoke for a while, about how his men were treating me and such. He asked about you."

That was strange. "About me?"

"Uh, yes, he did. He asked how you were doing, if you were getting acclimatized with the place… normal stuff a host would ask a guest. Why don't you go and talk to him?"

Castle shrugged. "I just… I don't like him. Maybe he's a good man, deep down. Really… he may be, but what I've been told, it really bugs me."

"It bugs you because you're listening only to one side of the story. You said you've been told things by your commanding officer and one of your instructors, right?"

"Yes. Colonel Campbell and Master Miller, and what they had to say wasn't exactly the best basis for trusting someone that basically kidnaps you!"

"And in hindsight, do you trust them?"

Groaning, he shook his head. "Not much, given what has happened."

"Then why don't you give him a chance? Your mother trusts him, right? And it seems to me that Martha Rogers is a good judge of character!"

"I know, but…" he whined a little. "When you spend a quarter of your life giving for granted that Big Boss is a war criminal, albeit a legendary one, it's not really easy to change opinion when this man comes and snatches you away from your life without as much as a _good morning_."

"What should I say then? A complete stranger takes me to the other side of the world while I'm unconscious because I've been shot by a sniper. At least you were awake when they took you here!"

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face. "I don't know… it's just… Alright, I'll go look for him, later."

"Why not now?"

"Because now we have to get you up and walking for a while, give those lungs of yours a workout. I've risked Dr. Hunter ire to get you up here, I don't want to go back after so little time up here. It's a nice day, and you deserve some fresh air."

Kate looked around, with a smile. "Fresher than this, there's only Mount Everest."

"A tad too cold for my tastes," he said while he stopped the tires and helped her up. "Seychelles… it's better. More oxygen for you, too."

Getting her out of her bedroom boosted her mood, it made her morning exercises easier. Kate now managed to walk on her own, standing upright like a normal person and not hunched over and holding tightly onto him for support, but it was always for short distances. Ten, maybe fifteen yards on her best attempts, before she had to stop, lean on something or someone and catch her breath. That morning, maybe because she was finally doing some workout outside or whatever reason, she managed to walk straight and without assistance for a good thirty yards before she had to stop. And even after that, she managed to go back to the starting point, that meant thirty yards more, double the average distance she walked on her best attempts.

"Hey, how do you feel?" he asked as he helped her sit back down on the chair.

"Surprisingly good," she answered, her voice slightly broken with the effort but, everything considered, unaltered. "I feel like… like I could walk back to my room."

"Maybe tomorrow, Detective!"

Both Beckett and him looked behind them, towards the doors of the elevator. Dr. Hunter stood on just outside the threshold. Her high heels ticked on the concrete roof as she walked towards them, arms wrapped around her torso to keep the thin white coat closed around her body. "You look good this morning."

"Still hurting all over but, yeah, I feel better."

"Great news, Detective." She was beaming down at her patient. "But now your therapist awaits downstairs. You feel up to it?"

Kate nodded. "I do indeed, Dr. Hunter." She took a breath deeper than usual and smiled at Castle. "I'm sure I'll regret it later though."

"No you won't. Because if Amanda and Chico think you can make it and the weather holds, tomorrow you can come up here for your exercises. And I'll allow you to walk back down on your own. What do you say?"

Castle smiled, when he saw Kate's face brighten up at the idea. "I say that I like the prospect. Can I come up here after PT? Just to rest and see something different than the wall of my room?"

Dr. Hunter chuckled. "You know what? Why don't you let Captain Rogers here take you on a short tour? He can go and ask Ocelot if he has a spare vehicle, and he can show you around a little, if you feel up to it of course."

When she looked at him, he saw the prayer in her eyes, the desperate need to see something different, to be somewhere else, to feel human again. It made his heart burst with joy, considering that, not an hour earlier, she felt so down she had let depression have the best of her. What a difference some fresh air and some sun makes…

"Well, I guess it's a date then!"

* * *

Her physiotherapists seemed to like her renewed energy and had allowed her to get out of the hospital for a while. She wasn't allowed yet to move out mostly because of the lack of facilities that would make her life easier while recovering in the dormitories, but at least after ten days she had been allowed to set foot out of the hospital platform. Under close surveillance, but at least outside, with people she that cared about.

It was a cheerful moment that unfortunately didn't last more than an hour, before the effort of the day began to take a toll on Kate and she started dozing off against his shoulder while her father and Ryan discussed the hypothetical thesis that they could sue Diamond Dogs, something they had specifically stated they didn't want to do, but they were both curious people by nature and somehow the conversation had steered that way. At that point, the two men had monopolized it.

"Hey, Beckett…" he whispered. "You want to go back to bed?"

She groaned and snuggled closer to his shoulder. "Do I have to?"

"Not if you want to stay here, but you're dead tired, you could use a nap before dinner comes."

"But I like it here!"

"You'll like your bed even more, I'm sure. I bet I'm not as comfortable."

She sighed. "Not as comfortable, but you smell good."

He chuckled. He really doubted he smelled that good, given the rough detergent the base laundry used for the uniforms and the fact the warm weather made him sweat profusely. Deodorant could do miracles, but it had its limits. She was probably just loopy from the drugs and weariness, sometimes it made her talk nonsense.

"Come on, let's get you back in your room," he murmured as he gently picked her up. She was losing weight, he could feel every single rib beneath his hand, wrapped around her back. He'd have to talk to Dr. Hunter. "Give it time, and you'll walk up with the others to your personal room, but for now… let me treat you like a princess."

He said goodbye to the others and walked to the jeep. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Castle," she said as he gently put her down on the seat.

"I'd never dare to think about Kate Beckett as a damsel in distress. But as I keep telling you, I feel responsible for what happened, and protecting you now is my way to pay you back."

"You'd be willing to take a bullet for me?"

"I'd take an RPG to the chest for you."

"That's a little radical, don't you think?"

"If that's what it takes to keep you alive, nothing's too radical."

The short drive to the Medical Platform was silent, as Kate soon fell back to sleep. She was really exhausted, but in a good way. She didn't even stir when he picked her up and brought her back to her room. On the way, he met Dr. Hunter, who followed them into the room.

"How did she fare, in your opinion?" she asked as he set Beckett down on the freshly cleaned sheets.

"She was happy," he replied, tucking her in safely. "She really needed to see something different than this room and the parking lot."

"You had a good idea, Captain. I wish I could just let her go to her private lodgings, but she's not ready for stairs. Not so many steps at least."

"Yeah, it's a workout on its own, getting there."

Naomi smiled. "Not that you go there so often. I've been informed that you started occupying our gym, and you've been seen running from platform to platform. You're finally trying to at least make more of your stay on Mother Base than just keep her company."

"She sleeps for so long during the day, I get bored sometimes."

"I bet you do. Working out helps you fighting boredom, right?"

"It does. Listen Dr. Hunter, I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things. First, Kate seems to be losing weight. You're aware of that?"

"I am, Amanda pointed it out earlier today," she said with a quick nod. "We'll be changing her meals to something more filling."

"Good. Now… I need to talk to your Boss, do you know where he could be?"

The doctor gave him a surprised look. "You mean Big Boss? Jackson? Oh, let me think… he's probably in his office, on the top floor of Commanding Platform, but I'm not sure. He comes and goes as he wants, after all this place is his."

Castle nodded. "Alright, I'll go look for him on Commanding Platform while Kate rests. I'll be back before dinner."

On Command Platform he asked a couple of guards direction for Hunt's office, as the top floors of Commanding Platform, clearly the oldest among the decks that had been built and the one that was subject of more renovations, ampliations and other works that had reduced it to a maze of stairs, boardwalks and dead ends. Getting to the top floor was a serious feat, lie running through a hedge maze while blindfolded.

When he finally reached to top floor he stopped a moment to take in the sights of the slowly setting sun. It was a clean day, the sun was going down slowly and the sky had just started getting tinged with the pale pink and orange tones of sundown. The clean, crisp scent of the open sea was invigorating.

Despite the grudge he held on the official ruler of that place, he had to admit Outer Heaven wasn't such a bad place. Everyone was friendly, treated them with respect and tried to include them with the day to day life at the base, one way or another. Esposito and Ryan now taught investigation techniques to some small groups of soldiers, Lanie worked on the Medical Platform, Alexis went to school, Jim worked with the base's legal team and Jenny on Base Development. Everyone seemed to have a blast and had been literally sucked in the day to day activity, probably in the desperate attempt to keep the ghost of what had happened in the past few months away from them.

He was lost in his musings when he heard voices incoming from the stairs. His mother's voice and Hunt's.

 _Crap…_ he thought as he frantically looked for a place to hide. Despite the fact he wanted to speak with Hunt, he had no intention to involve his own mother in the conversation, so he turned the corner opposite of the direction to reach Hunt's office and pressed his back against the wall and waited.

"...goodness Jackson, so many stairs!" gasped Martha as they reached the top of the staircase. "Why up here?"

"Best view in the base and the stairs keep me young and healthy," he replied. His voice was strange, maybe it was the slight breeze that blew up there, but it sounded more mellow, less harsh than when Castle had spoke with him. "And because it was the last room available when we first renovated the platform and… I kind of planted roots there."

"You? Planting roots? Excuse me but I find it hard to believe."

Castle heard him laugh, a stifled sound that barely reached his ears. "Things have happened since the last time you saw me, we have changed, grown older."

"So I noticed. God, even Ocelot… does he still like to impress new recruits with with the trick with the guns?"

"Oh, the flying revolvers? Of course he does! Every time we get new units. It was fun the first few times but after nearly forty years of the same speech every time we have enough recruits to form a new unit… it has become quite dull. It's a sort of initiation here."

"You seem to get along nicely, although he did…"

"Oh, don't worry about my eye. Adam and I got even a long time ago."

"I bet you did. So… you've been avoiding me, why?" asked Martha.

A short, but tense silence followed the question. "I haven't been avoiding you," he said, his voice rumbling like a far away storm. "I've been busy, that's all. This thing… it keeps me occupied full time."

"Jackson, you're an awful liar, you've always been terrible at it," she replied, her voice tinged with a slight scolding tone. "Tell me the truth, why have you been avoiding me?"

Hunt sighed. "Because… It's just been so long and… It hurts, alright? It hurts being around you. We've been through so much and… I may have grown old and got married somewhere down the line, but when you left, it hurt. A lot." He blew a long breath again. "Then I found out you had Richard and… well, excuse me if I'm selfish enough to try to protect myself."

"What was I supposed to do, Jack? You were neck deep in troubles in Central America at the time, I had no protection from no one and then you go and steal a freaking nuke in Costa Rica? What was I supposed to do, stay in that shack you and Kaz called base and play house with you? Well, excuse me if I was selfish enough to think about protecting myself and my son!"

At that, Hunt's voice rose to a thunderous bellow. "He's my son too, Martha! And you deliberately kept him away from me!"

To Castle, those words hurt more than being shot in the gut.

* * *

 _Word count: 60266_


	18. Let Me Suffer Now

_Dear guest reviewer who's been sending me not so subtle "reviews" about how you're losing track of this story and High King because of lack of updates, well, go back and read them again. I do it all the time. I have a life, a family, a job and a degree I'm pursuing, I'm not a full time fanfic writer. Comments like yours make me want to delay updates only to spite you even more. That's not the best mindset when it comes to fanfics. I've been waiting for updates for ten years on some fanfics I used to follow, I still get yearly updates on a Gilmore Girls fanfic I started reading in 2004, it's one chapter a year, but I'm not complaining. Because I know the writer has a life. Suck it up, it's part of the game._

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen - Let Me Suffer Now**

A bullet to the stomach hurt less.

In less than a second, the few certainties he had in his life blew to hell.

How was that even possible? How could his mother, a humble struggling actress at the time of his birth, be involved with a war criminal to the point of conceiving a child with him?

His mind was a mess of questions, doubts and fears that suddenly bubbled from nowhere, swarming his thoughts like a muddy flood and smearing everything with suspects and tainting every memory with pitch black shadows of the secrets and lies that had been the backbone of his relationship with his mother.

How could she… How could his own mother…

Castle couldn't even finish a sentence in his head. Behind the corner, Hunt and his mother were now arguing with relentless animosity, throwing insults at each other in some very crude fashion, but he couldn't care less. He just didn't want to be near any of them, even if they didn't know he was there.

"You should have told me about him!" exclaimed Hunt. "I had all the rights to know that I had a child!"

"For what reason? Would you have changed your ways? Moved in with me, found an office job and played house? Jackson, you're not capable of something like that!"

"I could have tried!" he bellowed. "I could have tried, Martha! But you took that opportunity away from me! He was ten when I discovered he existed!"

"And how did you even discover he existed? Please, enlighten me!"

Hunt growled again, clearly frustrated. Oh, Castle knew the feeling.

"I came to New York in 1982, to do… things. Went to a walk in Central Park one night and I saw you performing A Midsummer Night's Dream there. I was hoping to see you after the play but when you came out of backstage you had this boy with you and damn if he didn't look like me when I was his age. It felt like being shot in the gut."

Castle cringed, when Hunt used the same metaphor he would use to describe that very same feeling of loss and hurt that weighed on his chest in that moment.

"Why didn't you approach us then! You were there, we could have talked!"

"About what, uh? How I had nearly lost an arm when the helicopter I was flying on exploded in Cuba? About how LokSat kidnapped and tortured Paz in a black site in Guantanamo, how she let herself die because of what they did to her? You remember Paz, right?"

"Of course I remember Paz! She was my best friend, Jackson!"

"Well she died in the most awful way and you never knew about until now!"

The whole thing had escalated into a screaming contest, with each of them trying to make the other hurt more, and Castle couldn't really take anymore of that crap. Clutching his hands so tight his knuckles turned white, he moved away from the wall and silently walked around the corner. The two quarrelling former lovers soon stopped talking and turned towards him, pale and with their face twisted in anger and shock.

"I'll leave you alone," Castle muttered as he walked past them towards the stairs.

"Richard…" called his mother, but he waved her off.

"Don't talk. There's no need." He sighed. "He already said everything I needed to hear."

"Please let me explain…"

"Explain what?" he growled turning towards her, murder written in his eyes. "That you had a one night stand, had me and forgot to tell me I'm the bastard child of a war criminal and his whore?"

Hunt placed himself between him and Martha. "Don't speak to your mother that way!"

Castle lost it. How dared he to tell him what to do or not to do? Who was he, what had he done to deserve the right to scold him like he was an unruly child over whom he had an ounce of right to chastise for behaving badly?

Before he even realized it, Castle had punched the man in the face, hard enough to make him stagger back and force him to lean on the wall behind him to stay upright. He would have hit him again, if his mother hadn't stopped him by grabbing his arm and preventing him to move.

But as Castle huffed and puffed like a raging bull taunted in the arena, Hunt seemed somehow pleased, even with a split lip oozing blood down into his graying beard and a quickly forming bruise on his chin, he smiled. There was a twinkle in his one blue eye as he checked his teeth through his cheek. It was like pouring gasoline over a fire that was already out of control.

"Don't you dare to speak to me like that!" shouted Castle. "Don't you dare!"

Hunt spit some blood on the floor. "I dare all I want, and you'll listen, you fool! Yes, shit hit the fan and here we are. It happens in my line of work, you know it perfectly well, you've walked in my shoes for ages, followed my tracks even! I understand you're upset but that doesn't give you the right to call your mother a whore so shut the fuck up and listen."

Castle shrugged and pushed his mother away from him, gently. "I don't have time for your crap," he growled. "Stay the fuck away from me!"

He turned his back to them and sped down the stairs and away from them. His mother called him, asked him to be reasonable and to listen, but the gut punch they had thrown him, albeit unknowingly, was too much to take in one sitting.

His mother had always told him he was the product of a one night thing, or at least she had started using those terms when he had been old enough to understand. One of the reasons he had moved hell and high waters to try and do the right thing, when Meredith had got pregnant with Alexis was because he knew how it felt to grow up without a parent, so he had asked her to marry him, only to be turned down. In retrospect, it had been the best thing for all of them. Meredith wasn't exactly cut out to be a parent, she clearly loved her daughter but more like an eccentric aunt with a loaded credit card, and in the end they had realized they'd only hurt each other if they got married so she had Alexis, stayed in New York for the first year of the girl's life, and then she had left for Los Angeles.

Her acting career skyrocketed after that. She dropped by a couple of times a year, regularly called Alexis to keep tabs with her, and as his Pumpkin grew up, things were good that way, but as she was younger, he saw that shadow in her eyes when she went visiting her friends, who had a mom and a dad with a nine-to-five job, and not a dad that could disappear any second and an eccentric grandmother.

It hurt him, made him feel like an inadequate father, like he needed to act as both mom and dad. He liked to consider himself a good father, the father he had always wanted to grow up with but never had and in the end, Alexis turned out to be just fine. Overly serious, opposite of his usual overly hyped behavior.

Which in the end was only a coping mechanism to keep up with the day to day life so PTSD wouldn't take over. It worked for most of the time, unless something brought his past up.

First the bomb, then Coonan, Lockwood… then Kate getting shot, and then this.

Life had a cruel sense of humor.

He had done everything he could to be the best father he never had, only to find out that his father was one of the worst men that ever walked on earth during the past century.

As realization started sinking in, nausea rose. Each step he took down the steep slippery stairs, Castle felt his stomach cramp more and more with anxiety and a good dose of self-loathing until he finally had to lean over the railing and throw up the remainder of what he had eaten that day.

He really hoped no one passed beneath that particular spot with a boat.

He sunk on the floor, back against the railing as he gasped, the sickening aftertaste of his stomach contents lingered in his mouth, like battery acid mixed with monkey urine burning through the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, this is a nightmare," he murmured.

"What is?"

Castle turned his head and noticed a patrolling guard a few steps away from him. He shrugged. "Lots of crap, I don't want to bore you to death."

The guard walked closer to him and knelt beside him, offering a canteen. "Rinse your mouth, I've got a gum too, if you need one."

Castle took the container and took a swig, swashed the mouthful of water around and spit it over the railing. "Thanks, I guess I'll accept the gum too."

The man fiddled with one of his pouches and handed him the stick. "Something wrong?"

He shrugged and chewed a couple of times to get rid of the terrible taste of puke from his mouth. "It's easier if I tell you what isn't."

He smiled and extended his hand. "By the way, I'm Samir."

Castle grabbed his hand and shook it. "Rick. Thanks for the help."

"Oh, if we don't help each other, we'd be very miserable on Mother Base. I've never seen you around, new recruit?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm… I'm a guest. Big Boss brought me and some friends here because we… we messed up with LokSat, without knowing it."

"Damn Captain, you could have told me!" He stood and saluted, rigid like a log of wood.

Castle sighed. "Don't… that grade doesn't belong to me anymore. I hate when they address me that way."

Samir smiled. "You're in the wrong place then, we're all soldiers here, we address each other by grade or nickname. You'll get used to it soon enough."

"Don't think so…" Talking to someone about something other than his misery helped him with the nausea, but the nagging feeling of filthiness that had befallen over him the moment Hunt spoke those fateful words wouldn't let go.

He doubted it would ever go away, not in the near future at least.

"If you say so… now, Rick, is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked with a wide, sincere smile.

Castle stood on wobbly legs. "No Samir, but thanks for the water, the gum and the company."

"Anytime, Cap… Rick. Now if you don't mind, I need to go back on patrol. And, if I may be so bold, I want to tell you a little secret: we all get the jitters sometimes in this place. Everyone, at some point, has leaned over that railing and has thrown up their guts. It's normal, we're at war with the world, you never know when you're going to be deployed. No one will judge you for that. And if you need a pick-me-up, the Quartermaster has something you may appreciate."

"What? You've got yourself the official moonshiner of the base?" asked Castle with a sudden, unexpected burst of hilarity, mostly because he recalled some weird attempts some of his comrades back in Kuwait that tried to make anything vaguely alcoholic with what they had at hand.

"Well, we're so big we proudly consider ourselves a nation, not just an offshore base, we have recreational infrastructures too. I'm not a great consumer of alcoholic beverages, but we have a fully functional bar, on the fourth deck," he explained. "But believe me, go to the quartermaster and tell him I sent you and that you need a pick-me-up. He'll know what to give you."

With that, Samir resumed his patrol tour, leaving Castle alone in that small corner of platform, a strange sense of peace lingering around him, in total contrast to the thundering storm that wrecked his soul.

Sighing, he grabbed the railing and leaned against it a bit. The sea was calm, a flat blue surface of infinite nothingness that extended from the eastern coasts of Africa to Australia and the myriad of different islands of Southeast Asia. Nothing but water and hidden perils for miles and miles and miles. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time, a glorious spectacle of how things can often be deceiving. So far out in the sea, calm was only an apparent state, every second a storm could be brewing somewhere beyond the horizon, with strong winds carrying it in your direction so fast you can't really predict it until you're drenched to the bone or worse, thrown overboard by a sudden gust of wind.

Yet, it was beautiful, calm. The droning noise of the water lapping over the pillars that sustained the structure of the platform was almost soothing. It made him feel a little less constricted, made breathing through the lump in his throat that felt like a slipknot around his neck a little easier.

"Still a nightmare," he muttered, as he finally stood straight.

He held his breath for a moment, while he tried to replay the scene from minutes before, summarize what he knew.

His mother had a relationship with Jackson Hunt in the early seventies, either romantic or just physical he didn't know - though he suspected the earlier - and she had got pregnant with him. She had fled. Later on Big Boss had learned of his existence and yet he had kept his distance. Fast forward nearly forty years and somehow Montgomery, whom Hunt had confirmed worked for him, knew about his true parentage for whatever reason.

That meant Hunt kept at least an eye on him.

Acid burned in the pit of his stomach like a fire. Again, he clenched his fists and waited until the burst of wrath dissipated and tried to think as clearly as he could, despite the thick fog that had formed since…

Since the reveal.

It wasn't easy to be rational when the whole world he had built around himself, the identity he had forged through the years had been completely blown off by one single sentence.

He wished he'd be less impulsive about it, he wished all the mental conditioning he had went through with the training and the missions would help him be more rational about it, but it felt like being betrayed. He had told his mother about the terrorists demands, during the occupation of Shadow Moses. She had all the time and ways to explain him the truth, in the end he was old enough to understand.

But no, she had to keep it to herself, just the tiny detail that would make all the difference.

What difference though?

The mythical Big Boss would still be nothing more than a sperm donor, everything considered. After all, it looked like his mother had just fled the moment things had got too hot, in South America. She had spoken of the famous stolen nuke and how things had gone south to a point she couldn't deem safe anymore and she had just left.

But how had they met in the first place? That was a mystery on its own.

All those questions and doubts kept bouncing around in his head and it was getting increasingly more difficult to even distinguish one question from the other, because one lead to another and so on.

It hurt on a physical way. It felt like his heart had broken in a thousand pieces that had been scattered in the wind. Somehow he felt defiled, again. Like after Bosnia, after Shadow Moses, after every mission he had been forced to witness people suffer and die. And this time someone close to him did it.

And there was nothing he could do to fix it. He would have to suck it up and just keep going until things got better.

Castle knew that in the end he'd forgive his mother. He was incapable of holding a grudge on anybody, holding one to his mother? No way. Yes, it hurt like a white hot bullet that rendered his flesh like it wasn't even there, making him bleed and suffer, but in the end, wounds healed. Mistakes, even those that hurt so much, could be explained. In a couple of days, a week tops he'd probably let his mother explain what had happened and make peace with her. Sure, his reaction wasn't exactly the best, calling her a whore hadn't been one of his best moments but… he had his reasons. The shock of the moment had made him say - and think - things he didn't really meant. It would take a while, but things would even out, he knew it.

It was a meager consolation though, that did little to fix the gaping hole that had formed in his chest, that feeling of betrayal surely would take a while to dissipate. But things would settle down with time, they would get better.

Or so he hoped.

* * *

 _Word count:_ _63153_


	19. And Never Die

_Alright, let me set the record straight about the author note in the last chapter: as every fanfiction writer (most of all those that don't get many reviews), I love and cherish every review I get. My eyes lit up every time I see the notification in my mailbox and I love to read all your different reactions to the story, where I take it and how I develop the characters, most of all when I put the characters in situations so alien from the original setting. Every review I get from this, every one I ever got for Sword Of The Witcher,... I'm overly happy everytime I get a review. What I'm not happy about is bullying. Because that's what happened. This guy or gal that started the whole thing, months ago left me a review on The High King And The Bandit asking for an update in a way that sounded a lot like bullying. A polite way of bullying, and yet bullying. They asked if they should even bother with reading my stories because I'm not consistent with updates. At the time, I took it as a one-off thing, I didn't care, I was going to update that story soon anyway... but then the same guest reviewer (that never reviewed anything but for these "requests" for updates to my knowledge, the wording didn't look like any usual signed review I have) came in the other day asking for updates on Sins Of The Father, again questioning if they should bother reading my stories because of lack of updates._

 _Well, it made me tick. I'm not usually baffled by people online unless they say something completely out of this world, but this really made me tick. As you may know, this story is betaed. And my beta was in the US for most of October (she lives in Australia) on vacation. She didn't have time to beta my chapters, and I understood it. I had a couple of chapters ready, but I didn't want to post them and the stop on a bad point to stop, so I waited. Alright, I left you hanging on a cliffhanger but that happens a lot right? So I started Until Dawn, updated High King, worked on The Language Of Gratitude, my straight MGS fanfiction and worked on my episode to translate for the Virtual Season 9 (and I'm very far behind with that, I'm sorry). At the same time, I had a biochem exam, I have a job that takes me quite some time every day... yes, I did things. There are reasons why I don't update. And coming in my house and then ask me if you should even bother to read my stuff because I'm not consistent with updates? Well, suck it up and play the game of every fanfiction reader or get out of my house. That's how I play._

 _Sorry if anyone felt targeted directly while they weren't the original target, I have nothing against anyone that asks for updates or guest reviewers. You have all the rights to review unsigned, for whatever reason, or sak for updates I do that too, but it's all about how you ask for them, it means you like the story and I'm happy! Really. But coming in the review box to write that it's a pain to read my stories because of lack of updates or that people shouldn't bother for the same reason, that's not how I roll. You write this, I may delay the updates only to drive you away from my stories. I don't need your negativity, it won't fuel my engine, I won't write faster because SOMEONE feels it's a bother to follow my stories. It makes my engine grip and the words stop flowing, and the updates become rarer and rarer. Ever thought about it?_

 _Reviews, for some not so famous authors like me, are our food. We get energy and we get spurned to write more if people write appreciative reviews. Even constructive critisms gets us going. Because if you notice something is wrong with the story, we can correct it on the go._

 _Sorry for the wall of text, enjoy the next chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen - And Never Die**

But things didn't get better. On the contrary, everything went from a very hot frying pan straight into a roaring fire. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the revelation of his paternity, Castle withdrew into a tightly wound up state of bottled up rage that threatened to burst at the minimum provocation.

Despite his better judgement and the initial proposition of quick forgiveness, he found himself actually unable to forgive his mother for what he perceived as the worst betrayal of all, and gave her the silent treatment. His mother had tried to approach him, willing to explain if he had to believe her words. But what did she have to explain? There wasn't much to say.

So he sucked it up and tried to keep his frustration bottled inside his broken heart, but it had been shattered to a point that no matter how hard he tried to mend it, it broke again and again and again the same moment his vain attempts to keep his mind away from the matter failed.

Even the smallest thing made him tick. The rare times he communicated, with anyone, was through monosyllabic grunts, barked orders like he was in charge of something or, in extreme cases, with silence.

The flashbacks came so often now that he had trouble distinguishing what was real and what was a figment of his broken mind, a memory that lived before his eyes as if those actions were performed right in that moment. Random panic attacks made him freeze in his tracks at least three times a day, he had trouble sleeping no matter how much he worked out and just to top things off, he had imposed himself an exile from Kate's room. His mental instability made him dangerous for others, so he avoided any social contact he could keep away from.

Kate included.

It hurt even more, made things worse to the point that one night he actually went to the Quartermaster Samir had spoke of and followed the guard's advice.

It resulted in a two days long blackout he had spent nursing one of the worst hangovers of his life in the silent solitude of his cabin, locked inside with nothing but a bottle of moonshine and his demons to face.

And the demons were winning.

He had no more energy to fight them. He felt sapped, like someone had hung him on a meat hook had was slowly bleeding him dry. Each event that had forged him for the worse was a cut that oozed blood into a dark red pool beneath him, but this, this was the ultimate betrayal. Not because his mother had kept the truth about who his father was, that meant little to nothing, but because he couldn't trust her anymore. Forgiveness simply didn't come.

If she had kept something like this hidden from him for nearly forty years, while he always told her everything, even what was labelled as confidential and that should have never left the briefing room, what had she had kept from him? That she was a CIA operative? A Soviet agent? That she worked as a double crossing agent for the Chinese intelligence to steal funds for them?

Well, even the fact that his father was a world class war criminal hurt, but…

No, his mother lying to him like this hurt more. That was the deeper cut of all, the one that hurt the most, the one that bled faster.

It fucking sucked.

And it seemed like there was no end to it. Like the damn Terminator, it just kept on coming. Doubts, uncertainty, a lingering feeling of inadequacy, everything mixed up in a jumble of emotions that often spiralled out control and dragged him down in a state that he could only describe as catatonic.

Early one morning, about a week after the big reveal, he got out of his cabin and walked down to the main bridge, he noticed an incoming helicopter that was just landing on the platform. A bunch of soldiers walked out of the vehicle, tired and covered in dust. They looked happy though, hugging each other to congratulate themselves for another completed mission. Apparently without causalities.

Castle observed them from a distance, a spark of joy in his heart as he witnessed the small miracle of soldiers all coming back in one piece, when he noticed a familiar face in the group. And he seemed to notice him, as he stopped in his tracks for a moment then walked away from the group.

"Jack…" said Castle. "I see you finally put on some bulk!"

His former colleague at FOXHOUND smiled, bright blue eyes and blond hair flashed in the light of the rising sun. "Yeah, I took your words and finally put on some muscle. I do actually need them to control this!"

He raised his hand, but instead of flesh and bone there was a bright red bionic prosthesis, something that came out straight from science fiction movies and videogames. "What the fuck happened to your hand?" asked Castle, horrified.

"It's a long story Rick, and I probably smell like a septic tank. Give me a moment to make myself presentable, then we'll talk in front of breakfast, what do you think?"

Despite not being ready for large social meetings like the gatherings of soldiers in the mess hall, Castle agreed. Jack was the guy that was supposed to take over his place as the agent code named Solid Snake, but that name was cursed with laughter and giggling, so they changed it to Raiden mid-mission, actually. One that had taken place on another offshore plant, but that one was just outside New York.

Raiden was quick to get himself presentable, and Castle had to be honest, he was right about stinking like a septic tank. When they reached the mess hall, it was still nearly empty, as it wasn't six AM yet. They each grabbed a tray and picked their breakfast of choice, before they found a secluded corner of the hall and sat down to eat.

"So… I've heard you're neck deep in shit again," started Jack as he mixed his coffee with sugar and milk. "So much that the Boss had to come and rescue you."

Castle grunted. "LokSat wanted to blow up New York with a dirty bomb, which I promptly defused before it turned Manhattan into a Fallout style landscape. With my daughter and…" he almost choked when he tried to mention his mother, but managed to spit out the word nevertheless. "And my mother in it."

"Yeah, I've heard of that too. So? You're back at trying to find them?"

"That was the plan, until my friend got shot down at her Captain's funeral."

Jack nodded. "I know. It was quite an event, a huge force deployment, to move you all here. Pretty much every single unit had to do somersaults to follow the Boss' orders."

"Which were?"

Raiden chewed a piece of bread, thinking. "Well, of course you needed a fully functional medical unit. And that alone was an extreme effort. Then there were accommodations, security, working with your friends' bosses to allow them to keep their jobs...the Boss even arranged for someone to visit each of your homes to keep things up and running, pay the bills and rents and everything. He basically wrapped you guys in bubble plastic and made sure you were all protected."

Castle took a sip of coffee. "How kind of him…" he muttered.

"Hey, is there something wrong? Still holding a grudge on him for what Miller and Campbell told us?"

He shrugged. "It's a long story. Now tell me, how did you land here with a shiny prosthesis straight out of Star Wars?"

"Do you remember Olga?"

Castle nodded. "General Gurlukovich's daughter? Of course I remember her, she got us out of Afghanistan when we were shot down!"

"Well… after Shadow Moses, after you had been discharged for good, we got word that she had been kidnapped while on duty. She was actually doing some recon for FOXHOUND and I was sent there to save her. I didn't come back in one piece."

"I'm sorry Jack."

"Don't be. The Boss recruited me when I was out of work with a young child and a wife that was still studying. He gave me this…" he said waving the fully functioning bionic arm. "It picks up the neurosignals directly from my brain, so it's like my own arm, only it weighs a little more and needs to be recharged every three or four days, depending on how much I use it. It could have been worse though, there was always the possibility of not coming back at all."

"I thought it was only stuff for science fiction!"

"Nah, not here. Here, science fiction is simply science. I've seen the R&D department make miracles that normal, state funded research teams can only dream by now. This is heaven for researchers, Rick, I tell you! They've made things that you can't imagine."

"If you say so…"

Jack put down the fork he was dexterously handling with the bionic arm and looked straight up at him. "Snake would you mind explaining why you're biting the hand that saved your ass like this?" Rick was felt a strange jolt of adrenaline when the younger man called him with his old code name. "What the hell happened between you and the Boss?"

His right index finger furiously tapped on the table as an outlet for his anxiety. "He's my father."

He didn't miss Jack's double take. "Excuse me? How's that even possible?"

"Come on Raiden you have a child, you know how babies are born!"

"Not that jackass! How is it possible that your mother had a physical relationship with the Boss, that's what I was asking!"

"Wish I knew! I only discovered it a week ago, by accident! And you know what? Kate's Captain, he knew that! He said that my father would never forgive him if he got his son killed. He knew, and I didn't. My mother never told me. You understand why I'm biting the hand that saved me? Because it's also the hand that fuckin' betrayed me."

"Did he know about you?" asked Jack.

"Not until I was ten. And even then, he didn't do squat. And my mother too. She wasn't even planning on telling me now that we are here."

"Now that sucks. So what now?"

Castle shrugged his shoulders. "No idea. This thing's causing me so many anxiety issues that my PTSD is getting worse and worse by the minute. I was doing fine while I helped Kate but now... I keep having flashbacks and nightmares and… I think I'm really losing it this time."

Jack nodded, understanding. "Finish breakfast, then we're out. You have to meet someone."

"Who?" asked Castle as he picked at the remains of his food in his plate.

"Just trust me, Snake, okay?"

Jack took him to his apartment, to meet his wife, Rose. A psychologist specialized in treating PTSD and everything related to traumas caused by war or any type of conflict. And one that knew exactly what type of stress Castle suffered from.

The former black ops agent introduced them before moving to Johnny's, their son, bedroom to wake him and getting him ready for school. Despite the early hour, she was already awake and ready for the day. She looked nice, with short dark hair and a warm smile.

"So you're the famous Snake Jack always speaks about, I'm so honored to meet you. I'm Rose."

They shook hands. "Call me Rick. It's good to meet you."

She offered him a seat at the kitchen table and a cup of tea. "So…" she started. "Jack texted me that you may need my help with some… issues. Would you like to talk about it? Would it make you feel better?"

He took a deep, stifled breath. "I have no idea. Do people actually feel better after talking with you?"

Rose smiled. "Some do. Some don't. Some feel relieved, others cry their eyes out. I've seen a lot of different reactions to therapy, it really depends on the person. You never sought help from a therapist?"

"No, I've always thought that with the confidential nature of my missions, I would have had to beat around the bush so much it wouldn't make much sense to talk to a shrink."

"I see. Would the fact that I know a lot about confidential missions change that? Make you more willing to open up a little bit?"

"That's how you call it now?" he chuckled. "Opening up? Don't you analyze dreams or whatever?"

She smiled again, but it was more of a sarcastic smirk. "The Freudian approach is a bit outdated, if you ask me. Now, come on. First thing on your mind, spill it."

Shutting his eyes so hard it hurt, he blurted out those words like they were trying to escape his mouth. "Big Boss is my father, my mother kept it from me for nearly forty years and now I hate them both."

When he looked at the therapist again, she looked absolutely unfazed, concentrated on him as she slowly mixed the tea in her cup with grace and serenity. "Well, that seems a good start. Go on, spit it out, I can take it."

He talked for hours. He dished everything he had kept bottled up for nearly two decades. Words flowed like a river as he paced up and down the modest kitchen. Sometimes he stopped, screamed, yelled or cried - but only after Raiden had taken Johnny to school - then resumed his tale. He didn't spare a single detail, not even the grossest or more gruesome one he could come up with.

Rose didn't budge. She simply made sure he would remain hydrated by placing glasses of water, cups of tea or other non-alcoholic beverages in front of him. She even prepared him lunch, when things turned out to require longer than they had both thought. She offered him a rubber wall that could take everything he threw at it, absorbing the brunt of his angry lashes against everything and everyone. Even her own husband, a couple of times. She offered a gentle prod when he stopped or a clean tissue when tears wouldn't stop flowing.

It was four in the afternoon when he finally stopped talking and, no matter how Rose poked him, he wouldn't talk again. He sat on the chair opposite of her, slumped forward and hiding his face, he felt a heavy weight of shame and regret on his shoulders, crushing him down.

After a long time of silence, Rose spoke. "Well, Captain, that was a lot to spill."

He shrugged, the only reply he could muster.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired," he grunted. "Ashamed."

"Why do you feel ashamed?"

"Because people die every time I do something. I'm nuclear, there's nothing good in me. Everywhere I go, I leave havoc and destruction behind me. People I care get hurt or die because everything I do is a mistake. And every time, I get out of every situation uscathed. I have thousands of lives on my conscience, and those ghosts keep me up at night and… I think I've reached the bottom. I can't fall farther than this. I'm a wreck and I don't know if this time I can get up again, climb that cliff again and pull myself together."

"I see. Well, I know it sounds a little early to make a diagnosis, but you clearly suffer from some heavy untreated PTSD and a minor paranoid disorder that tends to come out when you're stressed. The random bursts of anger and that thing that happened with the gun early this year are symptoms of both, just to name a few." Castle nodded. Stuff he already knew, but hearing it from a specialist and not through self-diagnosis made things official now. "Now, there are ways to learn how to live with them, but it will take time and dedication."

"I know."

"I can help you, if you're willing to be helped. Your reluctance to seek help in the past though makes me fear you're not exactly inclined to be committed to it, as it took you nearly twenty years of repeated traumas to get you to this point, and it was only because Jack dragged you here."

He sighed. "I'm an idiot, I know."

"You said it, not me. Given what caused you those traumas that got you PTSD, I don't blame you for not seeking help. And I understand why you snapped so bad when you learned about your true parentage. You've always relied on your mother for help, you confided in her and she broke your trust in the worst way possible, by lying all your life about who was your father," she quickly recapped the last few hours of his senseless ramblings. "Not to mention that you've been convinced by your training officer and your handler back in FOXHOUND that Big Boss is a war criminal guilty of some of the worst acts you can imagine, that surely doesn't help you with your self esteem, right?"

"It feels like… I feel like a piece of steel between the hammer and the anvil, with a very angry blacksmith hitting me."

"Well, do you know what happens after forging? The tempering. The hot steel is dropped in a tub of oil to make it stronger."

"Sometimes it fails though. Sometimes the steel becomes brittle and breaks."

Rose nodded. "And you feel like your tempering failed, and that you're about to break," she said.

"Yes. I'm about to break. And this time, I don't really think I can be mended."

"Then we need to set a quick course of action. We need to put you on a road that heads up, not down. And this roads begins with finding things to do that actually make you feel happy."

"Like what?"

"Whatever works with you. You said you started writing novels when you were in Kuwait to cope with the boredom and the trauma, right. Would writing make you feel better at this point?" she asked.

"It could," he replied. "But I'm not currently in the mood to write a novel. It's not like I haven't tried."

"I'm confident you can find time and motivation, somewhere down the line. I also saw you going for lengthy runs, did they help?"

He shrugged. "Yes, a bit. I guess I work out more. Makes my mind wander in good places, not in the dark corners."

"Good. Also, fresh air helps too. Anything else?"

"I…" he started, but words died in his mouth. "No, that's not viable at the moment."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"It's Kate," he growled. "Helping Kate helped me. I had a purpose, a reason to wake up every morning, to help her recover. But in this condition… I keep having flashbacks, nightmares keep me up at night, I see enemies around every corner, I stopped carrying a gun because I don't trust myself anymore and… and all I want to do is getting smashed drunk so I can forget for a minute how shitty my life has been for the past twenty years and… well, yes, that. Now tell me how a person in these wretched conditions can help another person that has undergone massive trauma and has potential to develop PTSD on her own!"

"She already has, Rick."

And the metaphorical angry blacksmith struck again. And the steel broke. "No…" His voice was reduced to a strangled whisper. "No, not her." His throat went dry, as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand. "She was fine a week ago!"

"Key words: a week ago. Then you stopped helping her. You fled. You sunk into your dark world of war-related traumas and with you, she sunk in her own dark pit of the shooting and her mother's murder," Rose explained that with the same monotone voice she had used all day with him, as if it was nothing serious.

"But… you're her therapist too?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not. Her therapist is a dear friend of mine though, Dr. Carter Burke, and… well, let's say that here normal rules about doctor-patient discretion are… bent, let's say so. If we deem that one of our patient's health lies in someone else, someone we don't treat, we talk to their counselor. And we devise a plan to help both people. It's for the best of our patients."

Castle stood up so fast the chair toppled behind him. "I don't fucking care if you work different from the real world, I just want to know what's going on with Kate!"

Rose, calm as a block of ice, didn't even blink an eye when he shouted. "Rick, calm down. She's being treated, Naomi called Carter early on, she has been doing daily sessions for five days, she's not alone."

"Is she doing PT?"

Much to his horror, Rose shook her head. "She's straggling behind. She's in a lot of pain and the meds don't really work much, most of all because she lamented some issues with the pain management drugs, they made her feel queasy all the time so they had to lower her dosages and…"

"And it's not nearly enough," he completed the sentence. "But physical therapy can't be postponed or she'll feel even worse. So they're pushing, and she hurts more, and the pain makes the PTSD worse and she isn't sleeping, right?"

She nodded. "You know the drill, don't you?"

"It happens when you're shot. Where is she?" he demanded.

"Rick, don't rush things. She'll be fine, we have her back and…"

"Where is she?" he asked again, shouting.

He must have looked pretty scary, considering the sudden change in her expression. "I'll make a couple of calls. Wait here."

Less than one minute later he was sprinting down the walkways that connected the platforms, heading to the gym down on Combat Platform, beneath the blistering tropical sun. His lungs burned between the effort of the prolonged high speed run and the hot air, but he didn't care. When he reached the building he barged through the door, not caring the slightest about the two guards that were trying to stop him. He dealt with them quickly before he finally pushed the door of the gym open.

He nearly fell on his face when he stumbled on the mat that covered most of the floor, but he didn't care if people thought he was ridiculous. It took him a moment to regain his composure, and then he basically pawned the first person he could reach. "Where's the physical therapy gym?" he asked, gasping for air.

The poor girl gave him some brisk directions before he ran off in that direction. When he finally reached the smaller, specifically equipped room, he hit the door so hard with his shoulder that he thought he would tear it off its hinges, but he burst him just in time to see Kate, pale as a ghost, as she fell against the bars she was holding on to, when her taxed legs gave away.

He wanted to scream her name, but between the breathlessness and the pain of seeing her hurt that way, Castle could only manage to wheeze out something incoherent as he ran towards her.

Before he knew it he was kneeling on the gym mat, with Kate crying out in pain as she clung to his chest while he did the best to calm her any way he could, despite being completely out of breath, to the point he couldn't really talk.

Her physical therapist, a guy from Costa Rica everyone called Chico, tried to approach them and help them up, but he shot him a mean look and he walked back.

"You left…" she murmured between gasps of pain and grief.

"I'm an idiot, Kate… something happened and I stopped thinking, I'm a selfish idiot Kate I'm so sorry…" He couldn't help but cry with her, holding her tightly against his body in the vain attempt to make up for the lost time. "I'm so sorry…"

"You left…" she repeated, her voice reduced to a barely audible whisper. "You left and you didn't come back… I thought…"

"Just think I'm an idiot, the biggest, fattest idiot in the world. What I did was stupid and… and I'll explain everything but… I was stupid, please forgive me!"

"I'm so tired… everything hurts, I don't think I can get up."

"Then we'll stay here until you feel better. And if you don't, I'll carry you to your bed myself. I'm still exhausted from the ten hours long therapy session but… I can still carry you around."

She sniffled, softly. "Therapy wears me out too."

"I bet it does. Come on Beckett, what do you think? Should we pull ourselves together?"

* * *

 _Word Count:_ 67344


	20. I'm Alive

**Chapter Twenty - I'm Alive**

 _Pulling themselves together_ , at the very moment, meant that Kate needed a shower, clean clothes and to rest. When Castle picked her up from the floor, she was a lump of sweaty cotton with reddened eyes. He couldn't help but notice that she had lost even more weight since the last time.

Despite Chico's attempts to stop him, Castle carried her away from the gym and up to their rooms. Officially, she was still staying at the hospital, for practical reasons more than anything else, but it was closer and carrying her there didn't require him to use a car, as the Combat and Commanding platforms were closer than Combat and Medical. Lucky, as they had started moving her through the base, she had been given her ID badge that would open the door of her personal room.

It was the first time she saw it.

Just like the other rooms they had been assigned to. A rectangular room, one large window facing east. Beneath it, the bed, one that looked way more comfortable than his own, probably given she'd be resting there while recuperating from a gunshot wound, small bedside table, desk and chair, and a wardrobe. Nothing different from his room, except for the bed. It wasn't the Four Seasons, but better than a youth hostel.

"Wow… a room on my own," she commented, bleakly. "How nice… too bad I can't still take the stairs."

"I'll take you back to the hospital when you'll have rested a bit," he replied as he placed her on the bed. "Step by step, you'll walk up here. Even run. Believe me. I've been shot a bit lower, but I know how you feel."

She grimaced. "Yeah well… sorry if I'm not ecstatic about all of that." The bitterness in her voice was not lost to his ears.

He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. "Oh, don't worry about it. This time I'm not going anywhere."

"Why did you leave?" she asked then, bluntly.

Castle took a long breath. He had just spent the whole morning and part of the afternoon speaking of that, he didn't know if he had the strength to do it a second time. "Kate it's… it's very, very complicated and… I just spent the last ten hours telling that story to… to my therapist and… I don't feel like I could do it again. Not now at least, but I will tell you, I swear. Do you mind?"

She shook her head against the pillow. "As long as you don't disappear."

"Not going to leave your line of sight. Until you'll decide to take a shower, then I'll leave you your privacy."

Kate smiled, briefly, and turned until her face was half hidden in the stark white pillow. "What if I didn't want that privacy?"

It hit him like a lightning bolt. "You're not serious, are you?" He'd give his right arm to be allowed that kind of relationship with her, but now? Was it the right moment? Could they really afford to mess up their lives even more?

She vanquished his doubts with a bright, albeit tired smile. "No, I'm not… I might be though, if you ask me in the future."

He found himself unconsciously holding his breath, which he promptly released with a thunderous noise. "You got me worried there, Beckett. Thought you'd lost your mind for real…" he tried a joke, but it came out extremely lame.

"I think I just lost my cool for now Castle. But… would you mind if… when things get better…" She paused for a long moment, as if looking for the correct words. "When we get better… would you mind if we…"

Smiling, he brushed the damp hair away from her face. "No, Kate. I wouldn't mind at all," he answered, despite the fact she hadn't completed the sentence yet. Because he knew what she meant, and like her, despite his self imposed title of wordsmith, he couldn't find the words to express the concept aloud. But God help him if he could even bear the thought of becoming something more for that amazing woman that had brought a real smile on his face again after years and that way drag her down into his bottomless pit of grief and sorrow.

The smile that bloomed on her weary face warmed his heart though. "Come on Kate, let's get you cleaned up, 'k? I'll set up the shower, you go when you feel like it."

It took her a while, but finally she emerged from the tiny bathroom with clean clothes and a refreshed face. She was still pale as a ghost, but she looked a bit better. Even in dark blue combat fatigues. She sunk on the bed beside him, hair still dripping, and lay her head on his shoulder. "Can't comb my hair," she muttered, defeated.

"Sit here, I can do it." He stood and walked in the bathroom to retrieve the required instrument and setting down to help her. "Listen Kate, I'm sorry for leaving like that. It's just… it's complicated."

She sighed and her shoulders sagged forward. "Castle… do you have any idea how it felt? I counted on you!" she said, bitterly. "You were helping me, I thought there was something…"

"And there is something, Beckett! I swear but… it's very complicated and personal."

Kate grunted a monosyllabic curse when he finally wrapped the hairband at the end of the simple braid to keep it together. "Is it so personal you need to disappear for a week to the point your mother and Hunt come to my room trying to find you as if they had lost all the gold in Fort Knox! What the fuck happened?"

She turned around and faced him. In her eyes, gone was the weariness and the helplessness of an hour before when he had picked her up from the gym mat after her tired legs had failed her. Welcome back Detective Kate Beckett, youngest woman to ever make Detective in NYPD, determination was her middle name, and Castle knew she'd never give up. She was questioning him, the small bed of her cabin was the interrogation room and she was back in her element. Probably for the first time since the shooting.

She was fighting tooth and nail to grab back what she owned, who she was. Something that Maddox had snatched away from her with one single bullet, that she needed to possess again.

He wondered if such a reaction had been pushed by his sudden return in a moment of public weakness. As if Beckett needed to make it up to herself, to be strong even for just one moment.

How could he lie to her, in such a delicate moment? True, he didn't really want to go back and tell that dreadful story again, but… did he really have a choice? Could he lie to her, leave her in the dark, now that she was so deeply involved in his crap, so deep she had been shot in his stead?

He owned her some sincerity, at least that.

"Kate… it's a long story. Really, really long and it's not pleasant. Do you mind if we get you somewhere more comfortable, and maybe something to eat too? Can you wait that long?"

* * *

They ended up having that conversation on the roof of the hospital, after Castle had snatched something to eat from mess hall. Despite the tropical warmth that made their skin sticky with sweat, it was a nice sunny day and Kate needed to be outside, to breathe fresh air, to soak in the sun. It helped, made her feel better, more cheerful, despite the psychological struggle she was going through.

So, for the second time in less than a day, Castle was forced to relive that nightmare, to explain her what had made him disappear like that. It had been just over a week, sure, but for both of them, those nine days had felt like three months.

Much like Rose, Kate listened, but she interrupted him more often, asked more details, commented on things he had done or said, or things people said or did to him. In the end she seemed to understand his reasoning, while still resentful for the fact that he had just left without a word.

At the end of his tale, she took a long breath, deeper than the last time he had seen her, and less strained. "You know I could have helped, right? That I would have listened to you, help you cope with that, so you wouldn't have to do it alone."

He nodded. "I know, I just couldn't think rationally. I was so angry… I'm still angry, very much so and… I still don't know what to do. Talking to Rose this morning helped but I'm still a mess and I don't feel like I can bear talking to my mother or Hunt and not lash out at them as if they killed my daughter."

"Does Alexis know?"

"No, right now only you, Rose and Raiden know. He kind of forced me to tell him what was going on, before he dragged me to his place so his wife could run me through the blender. Then she told me that you have developed the first symptoms of PTSD and… and here we are."

She smiled, for a moment. "Damaged as fuck."

"How's therapy going?"

Kate shrugged. "It's going. We talk a lot about the fact that I can't remember squat since way before I arrived at the funeral and even if I remember something it's cloudy and usually turns into a nightmare. I can't sleep and they had to reduce the pain meds to the point they barely work and that doesn't help. I wake up in the middle of the night screaming and I don't know why, then I can't go back to sleep because everything hurts and I'm scared."

"You had nightmares even before."

"But you were there, you always woke me before I would start screaming my lungs out. It's different."

The sudden scolding tone in her voice wasn't missed. "I get it. You wouldn't feel this bad if I hadn't left. It's my fault."

"No Castle, it's not your fault, it's just this shitty situation and we're neck deep in it. And things often get really bad, before they turn up right. Like my dad after my mother died."

"Guess you're right. And now we have to climb out."

She nodded. "Exactly. I have a plan, or at least Naomi and Dr. Burke have a plan for me. We're alive, and that's what matters now."

Castle smiled. "Yeah, that's what's important. The rest… I don't care."

"What about you? You have a plan or even just a faint idea of what to do?"

Another shrug. "I don't, but…" He stopped mid-sentence, as a crazy idea formed right before his eyes. "No, I actually have an idea, it just might not be totally appreciated in this place."

"Which is?"

"I'm going to sneak into Hunt's office when he isn't there and see what he hides up there. From what I know, no one goes there, except him. Montgomery was one of his men in New York, and he knew about my father… I bet he has stuff about me in his office. About himself too, about everything what happened in the seventies, when he met my mother... And before I face them both, I want to know what they do. But not filtered through their eyes, or the eyes of his subordinates. I want the unadulterated truth. And if I want to find it, it's in his office."

"How do you plan to proceed?" she asked, suddenly interested.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I need a support team. And I know where to find it."

* * *

A support team, in his experience, required a handling officer, someone that would analyze intel gathered during the mission and a IT expert to help with any kind of technological impairment he may encounter. In the past there had been more people following him via radio or other means of communication, when he had been sent on Shadow Moses there had been a nuclear engineer to help him deal with the presence of so many nuclear warheads, for example, but this time, he didn't need so many people.

Three were more than enough.

Raiden had took the opportunity to catch up by accepting Castle's request for help, so the handling officer was dealt with. Kate was more than capable to take the place at intel analyzing, also her hospital room was the perfect place for base of operation. Only few people came and went, at very specific hours of the day and never at night unless Kate needed anything. No one would catch them.

They only needed an IT tech, but they couldn't ask Ryan, as he was very busy with his own new occupation, along with Esposito.

But Raiden had a solution. One evening, after dinner, he had come up to Kate's room so they could get acquainted, and they broached the issue of their lacking of the IT tech they required, until Raiden, with an enigmatic, wry smile pulled his cell phone from a pocket of his pants and typed a quick message. About half an hour later, as they were discussing the logistics of such an infiltration in hostile territory, someone knocked on the door.

"Where we expecting someone else?" asked Kate.

Raiden nodded. "Yes, a friend." He moved to the door and opened it. A tall man, with thick glasses and graying black hair.

"Otacon?" asked Castle.

Dr. Hal Hemmerich, also known as Otacon because of his insane love for Japanese animation, was the resident engineer of Shadow Moses, one of those in charge to go forth with the decommissioning of the nuclear warheads and one of the hostages Castle had saved from Rathborne and all the other former FOXHOUND agents gone rogue.

Not only that, Hal was also the man that had often saved Castle's ass, guiding him through the maze of the buildings via hacked surveillance cameras and even giving him the means to pull a full blown McGuyer stunt with ketchup to get him out of prison.

"Hey Snake!" the engineer quipped, pushing the glasses back on his nose. "Been here long?"

"Just the past three weeks, you damn nerd! Where were you?" asked Castle as he bear hugged the engineer.

"On R&D, as usual! So you're the VIP that the Boss had hauled from New York!"

Castle shook his head. "No, she's the VIP." He pointed at Kate. "I'm just the bodyguard. Otacon, meet Detective Kate Beckett, the VIP."

Hal, always the shy, geeky guy he remembered, instantly became extremely awkward around her. "Oh… nice to meet you." The shook hands, briefly. "I'm sorry, I'm sure I look like a fish out of water but my work keeps me extremely busy and…"

"And you never leave the platform," blurted Raiden. "Come on Hal, we know you don't like to come out and be social, but we need your help."

"For what?" asked Hal, sitting at the foot of Castle's spare bed.

"To break in Hunt's office," stated Castle.

The engineer paled, matching Kate's pallor. Only for her it was caused by pain, weariness and the stress, for Hal it was a gut-wrenching terror that had seized him the moment Rick had spoken about his plan. "Are you serious?" he shrieked.

Castle, Raiden and Kate shook their heads. "He's not," she replied. "But there's reason in his madness. Hear him out."

* * *

 _Word count:_ 69957


	21. Pride

**Chapter Twenty One - Pride**

The thing with putting up a covert operation is that the less people know, the better. And that makes things difficult, because if you need help you have to count on not too many people and that makes progress move slowly.

The night Raiden had summoned Otacon in Kate's hospital room, which was turned into the base of operation quite soon after that meeting, they had decided the roles. Raiden would be the handling officer, the person in charge of guiding Castle and offering him tactical help via secured VoIP comms. He'd be relaying news and information when Castle required them, change of plans or other things he could need while infiltrating.

Kate would be in charge of intel. She'd look through what would transpire from interjected comms from Mother Base, security camera footage and the like. She'd be listening and combing through wiretapped conversations and CCTV stills and short videos, then report her findings to Raiden.

At the base of the operation pyramid, but not less important, came Otacon. He was in charge of gaining the intel Beckett had to analyze and, in case Castle would need it, open doors remotely. Most of locks on Mother Base were opened with RFID cards, pin codes or special keys designed to be impossible to forge. All of them could be hacked remotely, or controlled from far away, if you had access to that type of control. Otacon had it, being one of the engineers that helped design the network.

For five days, they gathered after Kate finished physical therapy and they worked on devising a plan of action. It felt weird, for Castle, as he had never been part of the planning stage of an infiltration, he would usually put on the appropriate clothing, receive the instruction and the deployed wherever he was needed. He seldom spoke except when asked something, he let Raiden do most of the talking and just observed the trio as they tried to devise the best strategy possible. Sometimes, Kate accused him of not being cooperative, but Raiden always managed to stir the conversation away, because the former FOXHOUND agent knew what he was doing.

He was studying Mother Base, the layouts and the planimetry, the patrols and how long it would take him to move from point A to point B, good hiding places, possible shortcuts, everything that could make it easier for him to get to the point. Commanding Platform was heavily guarded, because all the vital structures for Outer Heaven where there, and while Castle, better Captain Rogers, held quite a high status among the guards, he would raise more than some suspects if he was found wandering around the first deck of Commanding Platform, most of all the higher levels. The guards were ordered to shoot to kill in case anyone was found outside their allowed fields, and the top levels of Commanding Platform, First Deck most of all, were off limits to all the non-authorized personnel unless they received a special authorization. Castle had to get one to go and talk to Hunt in his office, that awful day. He doubted he'd get another one, Ocelot had been hesitant already the first time.

Also, if Castle were to get caught in Hunt's office without Hunt present, with or without authorization, he would have probably been shot right there and then, no questions asked.

That was the reason he was looking for shortcuts and places to hide. Anything would do: he could climb on pipes and small ledges, hide beneath and atop stacks of stuff, inside discarded cardboard boxes - which abounded around Mother Base - and many other places, like spaces between walls wide enough to accommodate his bulky form or, in dire emergency, even hanging from the ramparts if needed.

Unfortunately, urban and industrial landscapes were tough, and Mother Base was a mix of both. Woodland, marshes, even open desert were somewhat easier, with the right camouflage. Mother Base was a block of shades of gray with bright orange walls and concrete floors, the only possible camouflage he could use was a steel gray BDU he had found in the back of the chest of drawers in his room. And even with that, he was pretty sure he'd also need facepaint to obtain a decent degree of camouflage.

Also, the nature itself of Mother Base made it a nearly inexpugnable location. It was a maze built vertically, with stairs, piping, dead ends, ladders… going from point A to point B wasn't exactly easy, it often required a zig-zag route that made it quite easy to lose the way.

Castle was deeply lost in the planimetry of the third deck of Command Platform, where the infiltration would officially start, when Jack called him. "Snake? You with us?"

He jolted in his seat, so dead to the world he was. "Yes?"

"I was thinking about giving you a weapon, an edge against the guards."

"Hey, I don't want to kill anyone!"

"I never said anything about killing anyone. You remember that narcotic dart that knocked you out at Shadow Moses?"

Unconsciously, Castle found himself rubbing the exact spot on his neck he had been hit seven years before. "Of course I do, the needle mark even got infected!"

"Well, we have the same technology, only made much, much smaller," said Jack nonchalantly, as if miniaturizing that kind of munition would be easy.

"How smaller?" asked Kate.

"We can modify most nine millimeter guns to work with the sleeping darts. And they can be silenced. You in, Captain?"

"Stick to Snake, Raiden. I like it better than _captain_. And I'm in. Only… how can we justify guards sleeping on the job?"

"Well Snake… if you haven't lost your edge, I doubt those guards would even notice your presence, unless you sneak behind them and shout _boo_ at the top of your lungs."

Kate seemed dubious though. Understandable, considering her formation and her unfamiliarity with the world of covert ops and infiltration behind enemy lines. "Is he really that good?"

Raiden and Otacon nodded at the very same time. "He's even better," said Raiden. "I wouldn't even be talking about sneaking in the Boss' office if Castle here wasn't that good. Now that I think of it, why did you change your name to Richard Castle? Richard Rogers wasn't good enough for an author?"

"Because you say Rick Castle very fast it sounds like Rick Asshole. And for a while, I felt like I was an asshole for having survived so much crap while most of my friends from the army were dead, so… that's it."

* * *

With the planning done, it was all a matter of waiting for the right time to proceed with said plan. Also, Raiden needed some time to smuggle the required equipment, but given his high rank in the commanding chain it wasn't hard for him to retrieve what they needed from the armory. Not only did he manage to get his hands on the specially modified gun that shot tranquilizing darts, but also the tiniest radio headset he could find.

The right night came about a week after the first planning meeting, just in time for Otacon to set up his station, connect every cable, computer, server, monitor, whatever high tech gizmo he had moved in Kate's room at the hospital.

His corner looked like the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon.

With an incoming tropical storm looming on the horizon just before sunset and Hunt notoriously out of Mother Base doing whatever he did, the small group decided it was time to act. Well, mainly Castle and Jack decided it was time to act, Kate simply couldn't avoid it with the headquarters of the operation being set up in her room, and Otacon… well, Otacon would do anything for Castle. After Shadow Moses, the engineer had sworn that if their paths would meet once again, he'd help him no matter what, to pay his debt. That time had just come.

The brewing storm became a total downpour right after dinner. Time to act.

"Alright Snake, time to get ready," started Raiden as Castle was getting ready, checking and double checking the mission loadout. Along with the tranq gun and the VoIP comm set with laryngophone and bluetooth earpiece, mission equipment comprehended top of the line night vision goggles, a stick of black facepaint, tactical knife and a small, single use only taser and last but not the least, an array of devices that would allow Otacon to crack everything in Hunt's office, as he had specifically wanted to keep his stuff off line. Everything was waterproof or had been made waterproof with some tweaking, given the adverse conditions outside. Along with all the high tech, there was a simple, but always reliable, set of lockpicks for small locks.

"No shit, Sherlock," commented the writer as he slid the gun in the thigh holster strapped to his leg.

"I so missed your bitter sense of humor, Snake… now, really, you have a large window of time and no issue with deployment, but you need to be careful. Mother Base tends to turn into the most slippery place in the world when it rains, just avoid spraining your ankle on the way downstairs, alright?"

"I'll try," he replied, drily. "You guys are all set up? Ready to go?"

Otacon and Kate nodded. "I guess we are," said the detective, pulling the laptop Otacon had prepared for her on her lap. "What exactly do I need to do?"

"Keep an eye for me on the CCTV feeds, if you can see me, and tell me when I appear of I forget one while on the way," replied Castle. "Also, if you notice a change of patrolling schedules, or more guards than we had calculated. Easy peasy, you just need to stare at the computer."

"Otacon has the tough part," said Raiden, nodding towards the engineer. "He has to maintain the videofeed stable enough, while avoiding the traps he has installed in the security system."

"Couldn't you just take those traps down?" she asked then.

The engineer sighed. "Easier said than done, Detective Beckett. Unfortunately, those traps, or better baits for hackers trying to get inside our security system, are designed to be nearly impossible to be taken down or turned off, and most of all, even if I managed to take them down, the alarm would blare like a siren and the whole Security Team would be alerted."

She nodded. "And that would make infiltration harder for him. I get it."

"Right… now, if everyone's ready to take position, I guess I can go and avoid getting killed for the nth time."

On his way out, he felt her fingers lightly touch his hand, a barely there contact that made him turn around for a second to look at her. Despite the weariness after the intense session of physical therapy, she sported the brightest smile he had ever seen on her face.

He took it as a good omen for the mission.

The moment he stepped outside the hospital ward, the pouring rain soaked him down to the bone.

"Comm check, can you hear me guys?" he murmured, hoping the delicate microphone strapped around his neck would pick up his voice and relay it to base of operation.

"Loud and clear Snake, loud and clear," replied Raiden. "How are you doing?"

"I'm wet and cold, Raiden, but I guess that if you look outside Kate's window you'd probably see for yourself, jerkass!"

His handler and former colleague laughed. "Guess I would. Now go Snake. We'll follow you through GPS and on video. Call if you need anything."

He nodded, more to himself than to them. "Will do. And Beckett, if those two guys bother you in any way, I left my gun beneath the pillow of my bed. Don't be afraid to use it."

Her laugh echoed in the earpiece of his comm set, making him smile. "I bet they'll be two perfect gentlemen, Castle. I'll be fine, just… come back in one piece, OK? I've had enough of bullet wounds for a lifetime."

"I'll do my best. Snake out."

With the rainy night as his cloak, Castle took a deep breath and reached into his memory to retrieve notions he had hoped he'd never need again. All the training and conditioning were still embedded in his brain, branded with fire by hundreds of hours spent in hostile environments, equipped with nothing but his wits and experience.

Time to do it all over again.

At least he had time, no one pressuring him. Only his need for the unadulterated truth about LokSat, and his father, to spur him on. And those alone were two big incentives to move his ass and put all those notion to good use.

It took him a while to reach Commanding Platform, as the two decks were a couple of kilometers apart from each other, but the walk in the rain gave him time to reach the required mental state to accomplish his task. The moment he set foot there, the mission had officially begun.

"Moving up!" he murmured as he sneaked in the small space beneath a staircase. He pulled the stick of face paint from the pocket of his pants and applied it to his wet face liberally, to provide better camouflage in low light conditions. With that done, he worn a pair of specially designed gloves that would give him better grip no matter how wet the surfaces he clung on would be and he was finally ready. "How's situation?"

"All clear Snake, the rain makes the guards sloppy, they tend to shorten their patrols to stay dry. You're doing good for now," answered Raiden.

"Just be careful up on the second level," added Kate. "Two guards are having a chat right on the path you have chosen, or at least I think they are."

Castle stopped in his tracks. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen them turning a corner on a camera, but they haven't come out on the other side or on the same corridor."

"Otacon, what's on that side of the walkway?"

He had to wait about half a minute to get an answer. "Nothing, it's just well repaired."

"I bet they're having a smoke," added Raiden. "They'll move when they're done, and if they don't, I'll report them to their boss tomorrow and have them put to toilet duty."

"And that means?"

Castle chuckled. "It means they will have to clean all the toilets, most of all common toilets, for an undefined amount of time," he explained as he walked up to the first level. "Typical army punishment for insubordination."

"Were you ever subjected to it?"

"Nope," he replied as he examined the walkway where the two lazy guards were having an unplanned break. Avoiding the videocamera by walking right beneath its blind spot, he reached the place where the guards were standing. Using the stairs was impossible, he would have to pass right where they were if he did so, but jumping and climbing up away from them was out of the question too, because even if he tried his best, he'd never be able to reach the border of the walkway above him.

 _What do I do?_ He asked himself. In the dim light brought by the floodlights scattered around the platform, he couldn't see too well, but he had to improvise a plan. Fast.

"Otacon, there are big pipes right in front of me. Where do they lead?"

"You want to use them to climb up?"

Castle shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because it's night, it's wet and it's a death wish?" exclaimed Kate.

"It's not, it's a good plan in fact," said Jack. "Snake, those pipes lead straight to the fourth level, completely bypassing floor two and three. Rick, if you manage to climb those pipes, you'll skip the worst possible floors, those guarded most."

"I'm going up then."

"Good luck, Snake!" exclaimed Otacon.

He heard Kate chuckle in the microphone. "He doesn't need luck, he has training!"

As he grasped the juncture that nailed the pipe to the wall and pulled himself up. "Ah, you remember that?"

"Of course I do, Castle! What you did that night… that was stuff out of action movies!"

"Glad I was entertaining…" His left boot slipped as he hoisted his body up the pipe. "Oh fuck, Jack, I suddenly regret the climbing thing!"

"Ah," she quipped. "Told you it was a bad idea."

"Not bad, just slippery!" The effort of keeping a tight hold on the pipe and the few handholds he could get made his words choppy and breathy. "Alright, halfway there, I can make it."

Otacon laughed. "You said the same on that damn staircase, back on Shadow Moses. Remember that?"

Castle had to muffle a sudden burst of hilarity at the memory. "How could I forget it? That tower was a mile long! You got the elevator, I had to climb every single step, gunning down every single guard they threw at me!" He paused to look for a secure foothold. "That damn FAMAS had a pretty bad recoil, it bruised my shoulder! And fuck, that missile launcher weighed a ton."

"Why did you need to climb that tower if it was so well guarded, with a missile launcher?" asked Kate.

He panted as he finally reached the desired floor and managed to hoist himself above the railing and climb over it, landing on the floor with a soft thud. "I needed to climb it to reach a very nasty bug and the Stinger was the perfect bug spray."

"He means he had to shoot down a Hind D, a Soviet helicopter, that was trying to shoot him with a 50. Caliber gatling gun as he proceeded," explained Hal. "Either that, or he'd be gunned down, and Washington DC would be a nuclear crater now."

As he walked beneath another surveillance camera to proceed upward, he heard a moment of tense silence, before Beckett interrupted it. "Impressive!"

"Thank you, I just wished all that impressiveness hadn't led me to a nervous breakdown that made me check myself in a drug-addicted rehab center in Siberia for six months without even telling my daughter where I was, just to find some quiet."

He had thought that such a revelation, something only his mother knew, would spark an intense debate in the small, improvised commanding center, but no such thing happened. "Castle careful!" screamed Kate though. "Incoming guard, right behind the corner on your left. Hide, quickly!"

Beneath the pouring rain, he hadn't heard the steps. The rush of panic coursed through his veins for a moment, before he spotted the perfect place to hide. A stack of barrels, probably a reserve of gasoline or other fuel for the many emergency generators scattered around, was placed on a metal shelf that rested pretty far from the wall. Enough that he could sneak through it and hide. He did so, pressing his back to the wall.

As the guard passed beside his hiding place, Castle heard Kate whisper something through the comm system. "Now I understand why your code name is _Snake_ ," she said. "I just don't understand the _Venom_ part."

"He's lethal," said Jack while Castle moved away from the stack of cans. "Like a cobra or a black mamba. You want someone dead? You call him and he asks where he should put the bullet. From sniping posts to close range combat. I'm quite sure he could kill someone with a chopstick, if need arose. Snake, how are you doing?" he asked then.

He quietly turned a corner, sliding his boots on the slick surface very slowly in order to reduce noises in case a rogue guard had taken another smoke pause there, then answered. "Almost there. It's easier than I thought, Raiden. You guys need to tighten security!"

He basically skipped the steps of the last staircase, feeling the giddiness of a successful infiltration again after years. And for once, no one had to die. It felt great.

"Alright, I'm at the office door. No cameras around, no infrared motion detectors, nothing. Looks like Hunt doesn't really care about security up here," he commented as he reached the door and attached the remote hacking device Otacon had given him to the numeric keypad. "Otacon, do your thing!"

"Will do, Snake, just give me a minute."

And a minute it was. Hell, that man was a wizard with computers and everything else. No wonder the US government kept him at Shadow Moses to design, develop and build robots that would allow them to dismantle nukes faster and more efficiently, that guy was the McGuyver of nuclear engineering. And electronic engineering. And IT. Castle huffed, as he realised that he and Ryan would probably be best friends if Esposito hadn't already taken that place.

"What a weird password…" he commented as he unplugged Otacon's gadget.

"What is it?" asked Kate.

"It's 411972," he replied, trying to sound calmer than he was. "My birthday."

Silence was the only answer he got, so he decided to push forward and get it done as soon as he could.

"I'm in!" he whispered, triumphant, as he closed the door behind him.

The office was dark, the single window was sealed shut and Castle didn't want to attract any unwanted attention, so he donned the night vision goggles to look around. Everything was neat, every surface spotless, and he would never expect anything else from the Legendary Soldier. He noticed a computer, a very old model from the eighties probably, and instantly walked there. "Hal, he's got a relic from my high school days, you think you can crack it?"

"Of course I can," he replied from the other side. "Just put that thing that looks like a floppy disk with a strange appendage in the drive and I should be able to do it."

Castle obeyed and turned on the computer. "It's in, and the computer is on. What should I do now?"

"I need time, Snake. You can wait."

"Alright, I'll look around."

With the help of the night vision goggles, he started looking through the stacks of neatly piled documents Hunt kept on the desk, on shelves and bookcases on every wall. There were files in thick cardboard containers all named and dated. There was also a file cabinet, which was closed. The key was nowhere in sight. At least he had been smart enough to take the lockpicks with him. It wasn't a tough lock to open, and he had one of the drawers slide towards him quite soon.

"Surely Hunt is a very meticulous man when it comes to filing reports and such," he commented as he skirted the labels on the files.

"And he demands the same precision from us," added Jack. "Everything that happens on Mother Base or during deployment is reported and filed. For posterity he says, or if the UN discovers the real reason Mother Base exists and decides to pay a visit."

He chuckled. "No wonder. Did anyone ever suspect about Outer Heaven?"

"Not that I know of, but from what I know, in 1975 it nearly got destroyed by LokSat, and they slowly rebuilt it to look like this. Let's say the retaliation the Boss managed to pull on them scared the crap out of them and never tried to attack Mother Base again."

"You must be an idiot to attack Big Boss so openly, even I know that…"

His eyes fell over a thick file, simply named _Rick_. With shaking fingers, Castle pulled on of the folds of the file and revealed more of them, thinner this time. _Operation Intrude N313 - 1995 - Serbia_. Then _Shadow Moses Incident - 2005 - Alaska_ and more of them. Every operation, every infiltration he had ever taken part of, even Afghanistan, had a file. From the Afghanistan file he pulled his complete medical record too, along with the the full, unredacted reports that weren't showed even to him.

"Man, Hunt has men in high places…" he murmured, as he pulled all the files that regarded him from the cabinet. But there was another file, named and dated, that caught his attention. Two actually. One that said _Virtuous Mission - August 24th 1964 - Tselinoyarsk_ and _Operation Snake Eater_ \- _August 30 - September 2, 1964_ \- _Tselinoyarsk._ Close to the date of the second file there was an addiction, made in stiff handwriting and with faded ink, that read _LokSat_.

Out of curiosity, he pulled both files and added them to his own, before going to search for a container, a bag of some sorts, to protect the paper from the pouring rain.

While doing so, scrambling a little in the dark, he noticed a frame on the desk. It was a simple frame, nothing fancy or too expensive. It pictured Hunt, way younger than now, in combat fatigues and full tactical gear in front of a helicopter, probably near the helipad on Commanding Platform, posing with an arm wrapped around that of a woman with long dark hair gathered in a ponytail, also dressed in full tactical equipment with a sniper rifle leaning against her leg as it rested upright on the floor. The woman looked a lot younger than Hunt, and she was smiling.

But what was more strange about that picture was the little girl that Hunt held at his hip, blonde hair gathered in two high tails, dressed in a pink, yellow and blue sundress that screamed _this was bought in the eighties_. She looked straight at the camera, wide blue eyes and smiling face beaming at it, her little hands fisted in the rough nylon of Hunt's vest. She didn't look like either of the adults in the picture though.

"Jack?" he called. "Hunt got married somewhere down the line, right?"

"Yes, around 1985 from what I know, why?"

"There's a picture here, framed. It shows him with a woman, a marksman given the gear, and a baby girl. Do you know them?"

"Of course, the woman is Rita, his wife, also known as Quiet," he revealed. The name rang a very loud bell, as Quiet was the codename of a sniper that terrorized the Soviet troops in Afghanistan during their invasion of the country in 1984. "The girl is a Kurdish refugee they found in a raided camp about a year after they got married, everyone was dead except for her. They adopted her and raised her as their own. She's basically your adoptive sister, and you may know her as Sniper Wolf."

Sniper Wolf? The legendary merc known for the extreme lengths she was willing to go to take her target down?

"What the fuck, all the fucking legends live here?"

"Well, we're missing a few, but now that you're here, I guess that yes, all the legends are here."

Castle took the goggles off and wiped the sweat and water from his eyes. The bandana he wore around his forehead was soaked and didn't really work at that point, also the warmer temperature of the room created some fog in front of the lenses, that needed to be cleaned.

"Is Mei Ling still around?"

Suddenly, Kate interjected in the conversation. "Who's Mei Ling?" she asked, and she sounded a little jealous.

Raiden chuckled. "She was the _you_ in many of our past missions, Kate. A US Navy comm and intel specialist drafted in FOXHOUND because she invented an eco-locating device that allowed us to _see_ through walls, in a sense. No Snake, she's not here. She has her own ship now, the USS Missouri. She's stationed in the North Pacific at the moment, and the Boss keeps close tabs on her too. She's a valuable asset, like most of us."

"The world would be way better without us, Raiden…"

"LokSat would be an ubiquitous all controlling entity without us, Snake," the younger man replied. "That's the truth. Big Boss has worked all his life to stop that man and to do so, he managed to gather the best of the best."

"Then where the fuck my mother walks in all this mess? She's an actress, not a spy!"

At that point, after a long while spent in complete silence, Kate made her voice be heard. "Castle, keep looking. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. Come on, bring everything you can and leave before someone comes up and finds you."

 _Easier said than done_ , he thought. It took him a long while to find something suitable to carry those files out, and while he was shoving them in the plastic bag he had found, the computer emitted a high-pitched beep, as Hal had finally managed to unlock it and access it remotely.

"There you go, Snake. Looking for anything specific?"

"Download everything you find about 1971 and Costa Rica, 1982 and New York and everything regarding Captain Richard Alexander Rogers and Richard Edgar Castle. Also everything you find about Martha Rogers and LokSat, even the confidential files. I want everything and…"

As he spoke, behind the old CRT monochrome monitor he noticed a pile of old cassettes, those used in the good old days with walkmans and such. He picked one, a black SONY cassette with a green and white label. One one side there was written _From the man who sold the world_ in neat and squared handwriting and it was marked as audio, while on the other side, in the same hand, was written _Operation Intrude N313_ , but it was marked as data. He had already seen that type of cassette, back in the eighties data cassettes were a normal means of moving data from point A to point B, he had often been briefed through audiotapes like that, and once via encrypted data "Otacon, in your supreme nerdiness, do you, by chance, have an old MSX2 computer with a cassette reader?"

"Oh…" He seemed a bit shocked by the question. "Yes, I have one but… why do you need it?"

"Because Big Boss left me a message."

"How do you know?" asked Kate.

"Because he left me a cassette, one side is audio, the other side is data. It's MSX2 type of data, it was a staple in FOXHOUND in the early nineties. But the other side is audio, and it's marked with a message _from the man who sold the world._ Master Miller used to tell me that Big Boss was also called _The Man Who Sold The World_ by his entourage, because he managed to fool everyone into thinking that he had died in 1975 but he turned out to be alive in 1984. And also because he loved David Bowie but… Miller swore he had never told that to anyone, and… and there's a huge file with the NYPD logo on it, labeled after Roy Montgomery and… Oh for fuck's sake he knew it!"

"You mean he lured you there?" said Kate. "He willingly reduced security and so you could get to his office?"

"Yeah!" he snapped as he punched the desk. "He wanted me to get here and steal his stuff… fuck, that man is always ahead of everything and everyone!"

"He wouldn't be the Legendary Soldier, right?" she quipped.

"Yeah," he repeated with a sigh of defeat. "Guess I'll grab everything he left here and fuck it… he left a walkman too, he thought of everything." He sighed again. "Alright, given the circumstances, the infiltration is over. Snake out."

When he finally emerged from the office, the rain had subsided, but the wind still howled and the air was filled with the residual droplets, and the ocean below him growled like a hungry monster. He didn't even bother with leaving the office as he had found it, and simply walked down the way he had come. He took little care with the guards, but didn't encounter any, by some miracle.

The moment he stepped in Kate's room, dripping wet and slightly disappointed, both Jack and Otacon had left, and Kate was resting on the bed, clearly wiped out.

"Hey…" he murmured as he walked closer. "So? How was your first infiltration?"

She smiled when he leaned closer to kiss her forehead. "I was hoping for some more action. Next time we add a video camera so we can see what you do, OK?"

He nodded, smiling himself. "Everything you want, Beckett. Sleep now, I'm going to take a shower and start looking at these files, alright?"

"You should sleep too, Castle. I know snakes don't really sleep but… do it for me."

Those files could wait, after all.

* * *

 _Word count:_ 75398


	22. Feeds Their Blackened Hearts

**Chapter Twenty Two - Feeds Their Blackened Hearts**

The sheer amount of information and data they had extracted, be it in digital or paper form, was staggering. Between what Castle had physically carried out of Hunt's office and what Otacon had fished out of his computer, they had days worth of sifting through files.

Some of them were nearly fifty years old, and Beckett was currently deeply engrossed in reading one of those.

"Did you know anything about this Operation Snake Eater?" she asked, flipping another page of the thick report. In her other hand, she held her first cup of caffeinated coffee since her shooting. Despite the gaunt cheeks that showed all the lost weight she was still trying to gain back, she was beaming.

"Not a clue. It was CIA right?" replied Castle. "I think it's the mission that forced CIA to disband FOXHOUND the first time. That's what I heard, that there was a major fuck up and the URSS nearly declared open war to the USA."

"Seems a little more complicated than that," she replied, handing him the file. "See, Operation Snake Eater was just a major cover up, Hunt was sent there apparently to fix something that had happened during this _Virtuous Mission_ but there were more undercover agents in play, at least three of them."

"Any names?" He flipped through the pages, but found nothing.

"No," she answered. "Only codenames. Two were CIA agents that faked defection, they are listed here as ADAM and EVA, capital letters. The third one doesn't even have a name, he's listed as The Boss."

"Uhm, not Big Boss?"

"No Big Boss. It mentions a Naked Snake though."

Castle couldn't help but laugh. "Really? Naked Snake? And here I thought Solid Snake was the lamest dick joke ever!"

"I know, but listen here." She grabbed the file and flipped through the pages until she found the paragraph she was looking for. "Objective of the mission was the recovery and extraction of Dr. Nikolai Stepanovich Sokolov and the subsequent neutralization of The Boss after her defection to Colonel Yevgeni Borisovitch Volgin's extremist group."

"Her?"

Kate nodded. "Her." She then moved forward to the final sheets of the file. "But hear this: _upon further investigation and a lengthy confession left by Agent EVA before her departure from Tselinoyarsk, it was revealed that The Boss had not defected but was indeed infiltrating Volgin's subversive group and she intended to take it down from the inside._ But your father was forced to kill her in the end."

"Don't call him _my father_. He's not my father and he will never be, he's nothing but a sperm donor," he muttered. "But who is she? She must have been someone important!"

"No clue. She's only mentioned by codename, like everyone in this report. I assume Naked Snake was Jackson Hunt, though. It lists a certain Major Zero as the handler, Para-Medic as a first aid expert, a certain Sigint as weapon expert and no one else. There's a Cobra Unit listed too."

An idea sparked in his mind, bright as a light bulb. "The Cobra Unit? Where?"

"On the Soviet side of the mission. It says the whole unit defected with The Boss, except for a certain The Sorrow, who's listed as dead and thus not participating the mission in any way."

Castle ran his hands through his hair. "Could it be… could it be that the legends are true?"

"What legends?" asked Kate. "You said it yourself, this place has us surrounded by living legends, what's the deal with this one?"

He took a deep breath. "You see, when you stay in the same unit for a while, and you're deployed in hostile environments, people start sharing things. Most of the time it's nonsense, but sometimes, a legend pops up. Better, a myth, passed on soldier to soldier by word of mouth. Like Outer Heaven, or Big Boss himself. The tales are often so out of God's grace you file them as bullshit and don't care much but now…"

"Now what Castle? Come on tell me! I'm getting curious here and I have PT in fifteen minutes, spill it!"

"Alright. Well, there's this myth about a unit that was formed by the best of the best of the American armed forces and the Soviet army during World War II. They would perform guerrilla action, recon missions deep in enemy territory, help distressed squadrons… stuff like that. Rumour has it that Operation Neptune, D-Day you know, could have never happened if not for them. They did all the recon, planned the assaults, tampered with the Nazi weaponry… they basically saved the day, weeks prior D-Day actually happened. They were called The Cobra Unit, there were six of them, all named after the emotions they experienced during battle."

"Sounds weird."

He huffed. "And this is just the beginning! You see, there was a guy called The Pain that used darts infused with hornet's venom to cause as much pain as he could, then another called The Fear that was said to be a sort of freak show that scared the enemy to death, then there was The End, a sniper that never failed. The Fury was said to be the survivor of an accident that left him heavily scarred and filled with hatred he unleashed in battle. The Sorrow was more of a strategist, he always remained in the back of the battle to observe and plan the next move. Last but not the least, the commander of the unity, a certain The Joy. A woman so tough and so good on the battlefield, she was allowed to enlist despite women being banned at the time in the army. The Cobra Unit is said to be the very first nucleus of what later became known as Special Forces."

"The Green Berets, your team. But… you think this Boss is The Joy?"

He nodded and looked down, not sure where to concentrate and opting for a neutral sight. "Makes sense right? I mean… I don't know. My whole world was turned upside down in less than a month, I'm not really sure what is true and what isn't."

He felt her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, we're working on this. Now, I have PT and Amanda should come to pick me up any minute now, and Hal said he would deliver the machine you need to read the data cassette, he just needed to find a way to connect it to modern screens. It may take some days, but we'll find out what happened and how we got stuck in this situation. Also, don't you have therapy with Rose later today?"

"Yes, at 4 PM. So do you, right?"

"Same hour, different therapist. We can resume our scavenger hunt after that, what do you think?"

"Well," she started, a bit wary. "Do you mind if I pass this time, at least for a couple of hours? Therapy is getting a bit heavy and I need some time to decompress, or so Dr. Burke tells me. I hope it's not a problem."

Castle was hoping she would say something like that. He too needed time to decompress, mostly because Rose was a like a sniper and managed to pinpoint his issues like a marksman plants a bullet in their target's head. Most of the time, the crash course therapy sessions left him drained, to the point he often entered a catatonic state that led him to hours of solitude on the top helipad right above where Rose had her study on the fourth deck of Combat Platform, one of the least used and that allowed him to recharge a little before going back to civilization.

"No problem at all, take all the time you need. I'll keep working myself, then I'll tell you what I've found."

* * *

That afternoon session was brutal. Rose had made it of utmost importance working on his nearly constant state of paranoia - because it wasn't simply anxiety, it was paranoia - that amplified his panic attacks. Having gone through some heinous situations that had forced him to drag himself out by sheer force of will, he had come to heavily distrust his co-worker and most of all his handlers. Being kept in the dark and often used to do the wetwork for a government that basically didn't care of him and let him rot in his PTSD had brought him to the constant brink of a breakdown, most of all after Shadow Moses.

"Rick," said Rose after a long pause, after he had unleashed a long rant about not being able to trust anyone. "Rick, listen to me. You're right, you've been cheated on and betrayed multiple times on a number of fronts, you're right, I'm not going to deny it. Thing is though, you have people that depend on you, right in this moment. Your daughter has never done anything to betray your trust right?"

"No, why should she? She's never… no she came home crying her eyes out one night she had jumped the turnstile to get on the subway, she's incapable of lying!"

"Should you not trust her in the future?"

Castle flopped on the couch in front of her with a grunt. "Yes, I should."

"And Kate?" she inquired. "Kate seemed to distrust you in the beginning, but you said she had all the reasons to not believe you from the start, and now? You're here because you want to get better for her, right?" He nodded. "And she's in a room on the other side of this very corridor for the very same reason, should you stop trusting her too?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Yes it is, you just went on and unleashed a hell-on-earth rant about not being able to trust anyone else but yourself in your life, and you keep telling me you _don't_ trust yourself either!"

"Then what should I do? I feel like I'm trapped between a hammer and a really, really hard place. Reason tells me that I shouldn't generalize, that in the end only a handful of people actually caused me harm by withholding important intel or simply using me as cannon fodder for their power games, but my own mother was among them! I trusted her above any other person in the world and look where that got me!"

"And you still haven't talked to her! Rick, her _betrayal_ is the only one, at this point in your life, you can actually go and ask her for the truth and you still haven't done it!"

He groaned. "What good would it do? She's been lying to me all my life, and damn if she knew it hurt me not knowing who my real father was when I was a kid. And while I understand she might have wanted to avoid talking about Hunt because maybe she thought he was dead, would it be so wrong to tell me that my father was a soldier he had a relationship with and that he had died? There was the Vietnam War around the time I was conceived, it would have made sense, it would give me some closure, something to tell the other kids at school but no, my father was a guy she had met in a bar that had the most charming blue eyes and shoulders as broad as a wardrobe!"

Rose leaned back on her chair and twisted a pen between her fingers. "Has the thought that she may still be hurting from the fact she had to leave Jackson to protect herself and you crossed your mind perhaps?" she asked. "And maybe that she had to leave in order to protect him too? Maybe she was in love with him but didn't want to distract him from his mission?"

Castle shook his head. "No, I haven't thought of that."

"Good, at least you're honest," she commented. "Now, session's over. Think about what you just said and what you've probably forgotten to do in the past days and I'll see you tomorrow. Same place same time."

With a barely mumbled goodbye, Castle dragged himself out of Rose's office just in time to see Kate being helped into a jeep by Amanda, one of her personal physical therapists, as they hauled back over to her room. She was pale and her eyes were bloodshot and overall she didn't look too good. Amanda had a sympathetic smile on her face as she very gently patted her shoulder and handed her a packet of tissues. "You'll be fine Kate," she told her with her thick Central American accent. "Carter can be a little tough sometimes, but he's one of the best counsellors we have."

From his spot, perched on the staircase that led up to the mostly unused helipad, he saw Kate give the PT a barely there nod, but couldn't hear her when she spoke.

With a sigh, he then climbed up the endless flights of stairs that led him to the helipad, to his little corner of solitude and silence in a place where you were hardly alone even in the privacy of the bathroom. Between the ever present security and the very thin walls between rooms, on Mother Base you were never alone, not really.

When he reached the helipad, he sat on the warm concrete floor and admired the endless expanse of the Indian Ocean, wondering how far were India, Madagascar and the coast of Africa. Or the Mauritius Islands. They had been on Mother Base, a place where nothing was given for granted and you had to work to keep what you had, for a little more than a month and everything seemed so trivial, even the thought of firm land beneath your boots became something you could give up completely for the safety of your friends.

It wasn't an idea situation, but there in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by square kilometers of salty water, on an offshore military base masked as an oil extraction plant, they had safety. They had to keep up with Mother Base rhythms and rules, but those were nothing, compared to being forced to live in fear a hit man would be sent after them or someone they loved any time.

"No matter from which perspective I try to look at it, it's still a nightmare…"

He pulled the old Walkman he had taken from Hunt's office from his pocket and stared at it. He had shoved the audio cassette in it hours before, intending to listen to it while he walked to Rose's study, but didn't find the courage to do so. Hal had fetched him a pair of earbuds and they now dangled from the same pocket.

He let out a strained breath. "I'm already emotionally devastated, why not giving myself the final blow?"

That was a piece of technology he had almost forgotten after the release of portable CD players and lately the iPods and smartphones, but his mother had given him his first Walkman when he was five years old, he still remembered how it worked. He put the earbuds on and pressed PLAY. The old mechanisms still moved as it did when he had been released, in the early seventies. That thing was probably as old as himself.

He heard a bit of static when the magnetic tape rolled in position then Hunt's deep, gruff voice echoed in his ears.

 _Richard, or maybe you'd prefer a more detached tone and being addressed with your grade, but I can't really be sure so I'll call you by name… anyway, Richard, I know this isn't the ideal way to address the situation but I needed a way to explain things to you, and this is the only way I can be sure you're going to listen. There are things you may not be ready to listen to, and I won't press you to do it so, so let's do it like in the old days, when we were briefed via audio cassette. What you heard the other day between me and your mother is just a tiny bit of the story. A very long and complicated story._

"Ah, no shit Sherlock…" snapped Castle.

 _But don't blame your mother for keeping you in the dark. You know very well the nefarious deeds my name is linked to, the way you acted around me made it more than clear, and I have enemies all around the world. Around the time your mother found out she was pregnant with you, we were all neck deep in some nasty shit and we couldn't offer her the protection a woman in her conditions needs. She did what she knew was right, she protected herself and you. I wasn't in a good place back then and she was very right when she said that I couldn't change not even if I tried. At the time I was a fool that was basically looking to commit suicide by enemy fire, embarking in challenges bigger than me and… well, most of the time I came back to base battered and nearly crippled for the rest of my life. Growing up without me, without knowing who I was and what I did made you a better man, a person I can only wish I could have been. I've followed your career, trying not to interfere and I admit I was very proud when you were drafted in the reformed FOXHOUND unit. I also tried to keep LokSat away from you and your family, your mother and I worked together to keep you safe or at least try to, and we clearly failed at that on all fronts since you decided to join the army._

That had been a horrible decision, in hindsight. Sure enough, it gave him a steady wage almost from the very beginning, something his first choice of aspiring mystery novelist couldn't do right away. Yet, with everything that had happened after that damn night in Iraq where he had singlehandedly infiltrated an Iraqi compound to retrieve important intel despite not being trained for such things, he kind of wished he could go back in time and go work for McDonald's instead of following Uncle Sam's call to arms.

 _I wish you hadn't, as much as the fact you unknowingly followed my path kind of made me proud in the beginning and showed some of the traits that made me who I am now, but after I heard you were sent in Serbia and what had happened there I…_

There was a long pause and Castle could hear some rustling in the background.

 _Well, I kind of wished I could have helped. I read the report, listened to the recording of radio traffic, read the little briefing you were given and found out that very important intel was kept from you in order to manipulate the ending of the mission to LokSat's preference. The whole thing can be found in Side B of this cassette, you need an MSX 2 computer to decode it, but I assume you already know it. You must have asked Dr. Hemmerich to help you and I'm quite sure he'll dig one out of his private store room. It's full of that once high tech crap. Anyway, I'm digressing. The core of what I'm trying to say is that you don't have to blame your mother for leaving me and raising you without the knowledge of your true parentage. She did it because she was well aware that if you had known who I was, you'd probably want to be like me. And believe me, the world would be a way better place if people like me didn't exist, but we're a proud race and pride unfortunately tends to turn us into even worst people. Talk to her, she has a lot to explain but she had her reasons. And they all made sense. Whatever you decide to do, You'll be welcome to remain on Mother Base for as long as you want, to work with us to take down LokSat if you feel like it. You won't have to work with me, strictly speaking. My teams are more than capable to handle the situation without me barging in. I will keep my distance, if you prefer to work like that._

The message cut off with that.

What to do then? His words seemed reasonable, they gave him a lot to think about. Spot on with what he had just discussed with Rose, his now-worsened inability to trust people after being betrayed over and over and over.

"Uh, at least Meredith was kind enough to leave before cheating on me…"

Time to gather courage with both hands and see what kind of man Big Boss was in real life. Time to see if the myth lived up to the legend.

* * *

 _Word count:_ 75398


	23. And The Thirst

**Chapter Twenty Three - And The Thirst**

By the time Castle had climbed down the top of the fourth deck of Combat Platform and climbed up the top of the first deck of Commanding Platform, the sun had already started to set, shedding some of the brightest orange light he had ever seen all over Mother Base. The offshore plant, basked in that bright light, had something in it that made it look like a sci-fi movie setting. It only lacked the mecha from the good old Japanese anime tradition ready to go and save the world from the Kaiju of the day and that would be it.

As he approached the door, he found out his hands were shaking. He closed his fists tight a couple of times, then knocked on the door. Hunt's gruff voice called him in. Still with shaking hands, Castle wrapped his fingers around the handle and pushed the door open, but said nothing, he just showed at the doorstep.

Hunt looked up from whatever he was doing, held his gaze for a long, silent moment then nodded. He capped the pen he held in his hand and straightened on his chair. "It's a beautiful afternoon, let's not wall ourselves in here." He stood then walked to a corner of his office and grabbed two folding chairs. "Want a drink?"

Castle shrugged his shoulders, feeling them extremely tense. He could use a drink. "What can you offer?"

"What's your usual poison?"

"Either Scotch or beer."

Hunt handed him the chairs then grabbed a bottle and two glasses from a shelf. "Scotch it is."

They set the chairs on the platform in front of the door and sat there, facing the setting sun. Hunt carefully poured the liquor in the glasses and handed him one, before leaning back. He didn't say anything, just waited there staring at the platforms and the walkways that connected them as they sprawled in the ocean like pinnacles of taller buildings that rose from underwater.

Castle turned the glass in his hands a couple of times, watching as the amber liquid sloshed around. Given the rich color and the sweet scent of malt and peat that came from the glass, that must have been some good quality whisky. "So… I'm your son."

Hunt's breath hitched. "Would you willingly be called that way?"

"Do I have to be honest?"

The older man nodded. "Of course."

"Over my dead body."

A brief, mirthless smile appeared beneath his thick white beard. "I suspected as much. Not that it changes anything, from your point of view, I'm nothing more than a sperm donor."

"Yeah well, that's how Mother referred to you."

That made him smile, but it was a more sincere one. "That's Martha's style."

"Why didn't you try to contact us, when you learned that… that you had a child?"

"Oh I thought about it, many times. Ocelot often tried to force my hand, but I wouldn't budge. Thing is, you looked like you didn't miss me at all so… I took the liberty to give you my old battered copy of Casino Royale for your birthday, that's all I did."

"That was you?" asked Castle as he suddenly remembered that day in the New York Public Library. "I don't remember the eyepatch!"

"I took it off, I didn't want to scare you, you were like twelve at time. You see, it's not like my eye is missing, it's just badly damaged and I lost all the visus, but it's there, a blank piece of jelly that just fills the orbit. I keep it covered because the tear duct is damaged and keeping it uncovered dries it and it's uncomfortable after a while. The ten minutes it took me to convince you to get that book, masking it as one of the giveaway books of the library didn't make it hurt in any way."

"Why that book?"

Hunt shrugged. "I liked it. I hoped you would like it too, that way I would be sure that there would be at least a tiny connection between us."

"Well, it was the book that made me want to become a writer."

"Oh believe me, I realized it when you created Derrick Storm. He's basically James Bond 2.0 translated in the CIA instead of the MI6."

"You read my books?"

"Of course I do! Your mother sends me a first edition copy of every book you release. Even those you think are crap. I like them, some more than others, but there's a lot of talent and skill in what you write. Bit of a coping mechanism, right?"

Castle nodded. "Yeah… better that than going completely mad."

"How's it going with Rose?"

"She's…" he paused, trying to find the correct words to describe his therapist. "She's a wrecking ball. She's demolishing everything I thought was good for me and helping me rebuild something healthier and less taxing for my mind."

"She's good. You should have seen how Raiden was doing after he lost his arm, before she took the matter in her own hands, despite being his wife, and set him straight back to who he was."

"What happened to him? We spoke a little but he didn't say much."

Hunt made his drink swirl in the glass before taking a small sip of it. "It was his last mission with FOXHOUND, not too long after you were discharged. He was sent to free a kidnapped informant of the agency, but things didn't exactly go as planned. He managed to fulfill the mission, but the escape route they had chosen, technically the safest one, had some structural problems and it collapsed. A large boulder crushed his left hand. He hacked it off to free himself and run to the extraction zone, but the wound got infected by the time he received medical care and they had to amputate further up towards the elbow. He still has the joint, and the prosthesis helps him a lot, but he's still out of the battlefield. He's a great handler and commander, but he cannot fight."

There was something in his voice, a certain sadness that stained the tone. Castle was beginning to see something of what his men said about Hunt, beneath the thick blanket of lies he had been told for years about Big Boss.

"That threw him in a deep state of depression, not unlike yours, minus the paranoia. When I brought them here, I was hoping he'd regain some sort of… backbone, being among people like him. We have a lot of amputees from other wars that take on important tasks, despite not being deployed often. He saw a therapist here, but apparently it wasn't enough. That's when she came in. In the past few years of working with him, Rose has developed a method, a crash course for soldiers that need to get a grip on their lives quickly, before working on a more relaxed pace, in order to avoid suicide or other things. It seems to do wonders, PTSD is quite common around here and we haven't had a incident related to it in years."

"What does qualify as incident?"

"Suicide, mass murder or murder-suicide," stated Hunt, quite matter of factly. "You know, whatever happened when shellshocked veterans just went nuts and did… things."

Castle studied his face for a long moment. "You've seen it, right? In someone close to you. A shellshocked veteran that went nuts and did things."

Hunt nodded. "Yes. My best friend snapped, around 1983. We had a rough period, around that time. LokSat was buzzing around, there were rumors of URSS moving on to Afghanistan and one of our intel agents on the field reported some activity by known LokSat agents north of Kabul. He wanted to move in, deploy all our available force and find him. I didn't. The intel was sketchy at best. He didn't listen, he gathered a small unit and moved in. He left an arm and a leg on the battlefield."

"Wait a second, Kazuhira Miller was your best friend? Master Miller?"

Master Miller had been his training officer back when he joined the Special Forces, one of the few that followed him to FOXHOUND and took care of keeping training him until he died of a sudden heart attack in early 2004.

He was also one of the sources of all the bad things he had heard about Big Boss.

Things that, now that he was facing the man behind the myth, seemed extremely inflated or blatant made up lies. Jackson Hunt didn't look like the man that would keep a nuke as a nuclear deterrent in his base. He didn't look like a man that would keep children in his army to employ as child soldiers. The way he had spoken in the cassette made him sound like a hardened soldier, yes, but one with a conscience.

It all sounded so strange.

"Yes, that man was Kazuhira Miller, Kaz for his friends. And for a long while, he was my best friend. I met him in 1971 and he left Mother Base in 1985, mostly because of Rita."

"Your wife?"

He nodded. "Yes, my wife. Also known as Quiet. She… she was a LokSat agent, though to her it wasn't LokSat, it was Cypher, a CIA cover-up strike team that LokSat used when he wanted to deal with enemies and random unpleasant individuals. The man you saw in Serbia was one of the Cypher unit, from how you described him in your report. Anyway… I captured her when she tried to kill me in Afghanistan and after a while she defected to Diamond Dogs. We fell in love and… well, we got married. But Kaz never believed her change of heart to be true. He left, with the promise of never coming back. And he began spreading all those lies about me and how I would keep a nuke on Mother Base or how I employed child soldiers… all that bullshit, from a man I used to consider my brother… It hurt you know? And seeing you believing that pile of crap, hurts even more."

Castle felt his shoulders sag and he downed the rest of his drink. The alcohol burned his tongue and seemed to cover the bitterness brought on by Hunt's words for a while.

"It's not like I had much else to believe."

"Oh I don't blame you. It's their fault. Kaz and Roy's. They trained and handled you and fed you all those lies… it's not your fault. I just wish you would have faced me when you first landed here, soldier to soldier. Your mother and I had absolutely no intention to tell you that… that I'm your biological father, but I was hoping you would at least give me the benefit of the doubt. But you're here and that means something. You're at least willing to listen."

"Well, Rose made it clear that if I don't do something for my trusting issues, because apparently I also have issues trusting people, I wouldn't get anywhere. I thought that maybe getting your side of the story, soldier to soldier, with no maternal instinct trying to cushion the fall for me in the way, would give me some sort of good place to start with my mother."

Hunt nodded. "Sounds like a good plan. So, what do you want to know?"

"Why did my mother left, when she found out she was pregnant? You sounded pretty eager to raise me as your own child, when I caught you two arguing the other night."

"I think she left because she knew things would only get worse from that moment on. I had just founded Diamond Dogs, at the time they were still called Militairs Sans Frontiers, we didn't have a place to live… things were going down the drain quite fast. I kept undertaking wetwork from people that had ties to terrorists and other nasty stuff, I was basically trying to commit suicide even if I didn't want to pull the trigger. Your mother kept me afloat but she wasn't an expert, she couldn't help me as much as I needed to be helped. When she got pregnant she must have thought that I was a hopeless basket case and that she would be better off without me. She was right, as usual."

"And she just left, like that?"

"Yeah." He patted his fatigue jacket and extracted a metallic cylinder from one of the internal pockets. From it, he extracted a single cigar, probably Cuban by the intense sweet scent it gave out. "You mind?" Castle shook his head. With his permission, Hunt lit the cigar and let out the thick smoke puffing away from him. "Thanks. Anyway, yes, she left. I have no idea where she went, I found her eleven years later in Central Park. That's it. One morning I woke up and found all her things gone."

"How did you two meet?"

Hunt smiled, his one blue eye gliding in the setting sunlight. "I saw you took the folder for Operation Snake Eater, did you read it?"

"Kate did. She gave me a quick rundown."

"Did she tell you about the undercover agent with codename EVA?" Castle nodded. "That was your mother."

Wait what? His mother was a CIA operative doing undercover work in Soviet Russia in the middle of the sixties?

"No fucking way! Mother must have been… what, twenty at the time!"

"Yes, she was. And a damn good field agent she was to boot! They needed to send there someone who spoke Russian and that was young enough to appeal Volgin's… peculiar tastes. She was the correct age and she even looked younger, she was smart, beautiful and damn she was a great actress. Still is actually. She was perfect! She was my field contact after The Boss _defected_. And she did a mighty fine job at that, helping me while maintaining her own cover."

"I can't fucking believe it…" Castle whispered. "My mother a CIA agent?"

Hunt chuckled and nodded as he poured some more whisky in his glass. "An operative undercover agent. She was badass, Richard. Still is. You saw how she handled all of you when we needed to move you here? There's no way to resist Martha Rogers, no matter which identity she decides to take."

Castle sighed. "Please tell me that her name is Martha Rogers."

"It is, don't worry. She took her own identity back when she left CIA in 1968 and joined me. Ocelot pulled her in, she wanted out of the Agency and… let's say we liked each other a lot, at the time."

Rick laughed. "I bet you liked each other a lot, it's not like immaculate conceptions happen all the time!"

"That's the spirit. Listen Richard, I know it's a lot to take in, and I know you've been through a lot and you have all the right to not trust me. But I'm not here to hurt you or your friends, I actually care a lot about you, despite never been there in your life. And you guys have done a lot to piss LokSat off, which I appreciate but you've embarked in a task that's too big for you. You can try as hard as you can but you can't really take him down. I've been working on it for nearly fifty years and it only got me ulcers, wounds and borderline alcoholism."

"What should we do then? This fucker messed up with our lives pretty badly, should we just let it go?"

Hunt shook his head. "That's not what I said. I said you can't do it alone and that I don't think I can do it alone, not in the little time that I have left. LokSat is older than me and we could just wait until he dies but I'm quite sure he has been harboring a couple of disciples to take his place when the time comes. You guys seems to have a solid lead, or they wouldn't have tried to kill Kate. If we concentrate our forces, with your lead and our means, I'm quite sure we could come up with something good."

"You really want to take this guy down, don't you?" asked Castle.

"He was my handler in FOXHOUND and he fucked me up and over all the time I spent in Tselinoyarsk without Vaseline, he forced me to kill my mentor and I lost a fucking eye because that asshole just wanted to get his hands on Volgin's secret stash of money. I have all the reasons to want this guy dead!"

The sudden surge of anger in Hunt upset Castle a little bit, but he regained his composure quite fast.

"Now that you make me think of it, how did you lose the eye?"

"This?" Hunt pointed at his eyepatch. "Ocelot was playing Russian Roulette with your mother's head. They were both undercover agents and Volgin at some point had started suspecting both of them, so he made them play, and they had to follow his orders, after all they were undercover as GRU operatives," he explained. "I had been caught and I was tied with my hands above my head but I could see that the bullet had entered the chamber and I tried to deviate his arm with my legs. I succeeded, only the muzzle flash damaged my eye. That's it."

That was rough, but the quiet tone he used to tell that story was strange. It sounded as if he was entertained by the tale of how he himself had lost an eye.

"And you still keep that guy here?"

"He's the best intel agent you can find, of course I keep him here. And he helped me a lot during the past forty-something years, I think he paid his blood debt in full."

They remained silent for a long while, just letting the heavy truths sink in.

Truth be told, literally, Castle felt better. Relieved even. Hunt seemed extremely cooperative, worried even, as they spoke. He answered every question, didn't evade a single request, explained everything. Somehow, he had filled many holes Castle didn't even know his life had. He hadn't found a father, Hunt didn't seem to intend to take that spot in his life, but he had at least found a fellow, older soldier that had gone through similar awful things as himself.

It made a ton of difference from before.

"Tell me about the nuke," he said after a while. "It's one of the first rumor I've heard about you, that you kept a nuke as a deterrent. Is that true?"

"Well, if _trying to find a freelance nuclear engineer to dismantle that damn bomb_ counts as keeping a nuke as a nuclear deterrent, then yes, I once had a nuke as a deterrent," he explained, rolling the cigar between his fingers. "I kept it for a couple of years, but I never had access to the detonators. It was useless and I wanted it gone really bad, but nuclear engineers were hard to find in the 70s. So that's the source of the rumor."

"And the child soldiers?"

"Gathered here and there during the 80s and part of the 90s. I've taken them from the battlefields, took the weapons from their hands and replaced them with pencils and textbooks. We taught them how to live in a world that didn't include war. Some of them managed to get into Ivy League universities, they're now lawyers, engineers, doctors like Naomi…"

"Wait, Dr. Hunter was a child soldier?"

Hunt shook his head and puffed some smoke. "Not really, but her family got involved in the Rhodesian Civil War and she ended up in a refugee camp where she was taught to shoot, not to read and write. There was an epidemic of cholera in her camp, when we reached it in 1978. The UN had unofficially tasked us to go from camp to camp and take away as many people as we could, relocate them to safer areas, while looking for UN envoys that had gone missing. I found Naomi, she was five or six years old at the time, guarding the corpses of her parents, two of those UN envoys. She was so scared that when a task force from UNICEF came to take all the children, she grabbed my pants and didn't let go. A couple on the base adopted her and she never left, except for the years she spent at Harvard studying medicine."

Castle chuckled, amused. "You make it sound like you're a bunch of good samaritans, more than a private military company."

"What can I say, I grew up in a different world, when war wasn't about drones and humvees. I was taught the craft by a war veteran that has seen first handedly the effects of each attack on the civil population and thus calculated every next move to avoid civilian involvement. Now they just bomb everything to the ground, they don't care about civs anymore."

"You do?"

"I try, but I can't guarantee no one will get hurt when I deploy my men. One of the reasons we often get involved with helping refugees is a sort of atonement for all the death we cause. I fear we'll have to set foot in Syria not so far in the future, or Libya, or Egypt. Things don't look good on those fronts."

Rick poured some more scotch in their glasses and handed Hunt his own. "Things never look good on that front."

"True," replied Hunt. "But sometimes they look worse."

The sun was now nearly gone behind the horizon and a cool breeze was rising from the ocean, bringing the saline scent of the sea up to the top of the tower. Castle took a deep breath and had a sip of whisky. "This stuff's good…"

Hunt smiled. "Port Ellen, aged thirty five years, cask strength, bottled in 1970. Rita gave it to me for our ten years anniversary. I have no fucking idea how she managed to put her hands on this bottle, I swear, this thing was put in a barrel when I was born. We're drinking history here!"

"Must have cost a fortune," said Castle, looking at the deep amber colored liquid in his glass with a bit more reverence than before.

"No idea. She just presented me the box wrapped in dark emerald green paper with a neat navy blue bow on top of it. Best present ever."

"What did you give her?" he asked. "Surely it must have taken quite a present to top this one."

"A heavily customized Barrett M95 Anti-Materiel Rifle. Serial Number 0000001, first ever to come out the line of production. I don't know who was happier that day, me or her."

Castle laughed, wholeheartedly, for the first time in days. "She must be a hell of a woman to appreciate a gift like that!"

"Believe me, she is." Hunt's voice dropped an octave when he spoke of his wife, though still gruff it sounded sweeter, mellower, somehow filled with longing. Given their professions, their marriage surely hadn't been easy. "We found each other in the worst way possible, probably even too late in life to enjoy our marriage the way it's supposed to be, damn I'm nearly thirty years older than her, but… she made me a better man. Less bitter about life, I like to think."

"And Miller despised her for this?"

"I guess he thought I had turned too soft, less prone to vengeance. When he lost his leg and arm, he snapped, his brain attuned to revenge and only to that. He saw conspiracies everywhere, sought LokSat where there was no trace of him… he was completely blinded by his irrational need for revenge. I was more critical about it, saw things a bit clearer and I was more cautious than him. It wasn't enough. Rita is only one piece of a bigger puzzle. "

"Tell me about her."

"She's the polar opposite of your mother. She's calm, reflexive… quiet. Hence the war name. She didn't speak much when I brought her here, but with time she opened up. Still doesn't talk a fraction of your mother though. And when we adopted Asia, she also found out that she could be a great parent. Although I don't think that by normal standards teaching a Kurdish refugee girl how to shoot from age six with BB gun can be considered good parenting."

"Hey, I did the same with Alexis! She was ten though."

"Wait, you taught your daughter how to shoot?" Hunt seemed incredulous. "She didn't tell me that! I could have given her advanced lessons, not the basics of shooting a semi automatic small caliber gun!"

Castle laughed again. "She can handle up to a .40 caliber gun. I was going to teach her competitive shooting with semi automatic rifles too, but this happened. Wait a second, why the fuck did you give shooting lessons to my daughter?"

"She was watching some kids play around with modified guns that shoot colored pellets, not paintball guns, real guns with colored darts. She looked like she wanted to join in, so I gave her a .22 and _taught_ her the basics of gun handling and shooting, before giving her a modded gun so she could go and play with the others." The older man ran a hand through his short, gray hair. "Damn, I feel like an idiot. I should have realised that."

"Ah, seems like Big Boss isn't omniscient after all!"

"Hey, Big Boss is closing on eighty years on this planet, excuse me for not knowing everything about everyone on the base! It's not like I know how many times any single soldier takes a leak!"

"I bet Ocelot does!"

Hunt burst into a fit of laughter so hard he doubled over and had to set the glass on the floor beside his chair not to drop it as he cackled up. "You're so right!" he wheezed between fits of laughter. "He probably does, really!"

"That's awkward though… by the way, who's Asia?"

"Ever heard of Sniper Wolf? That's Asia. We found her in Kurdistan and like Naomi, she never left. Only she choose a path similar to Rita's. She had a talent for sharpshooting ever since she was a small child, and growing up with Quiet as an adoptive mother, her path was almost already paved."

Right on cue, from the staircase appeared a tall, blonde woman in a dark grey uniform and the Diamond Dogs Marksman Unit patch sewn to the sleeve. She looked roughly ten years younger than him. She carried a thick parcel with her. "Dad?" she called. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had company!" she quipped, a shy smile lighting up her face. "A transport arrived at the same time as I came back from my own trip with my squad, and this came with it, it's from Captain Gates, I assumed it was important."

Hunt stood and hugged his adoptive daughter. "Welcome back sweetie. And thanks for this, it's important indeed. By the way, Asia, this is Richard Rogers."

Again, her face lit up. "Wait, you mean that Richard Rogers? My brother?" Castle felt a stab of guilt as she mentioned their rough relation status. "Wow, I had no idea you had to drag him here!" She strode towards his chair and reached him just as he stood up and outstretched her hand. "Nice to meet you, Rick. It's good to finally meet you, I've read so much about you in Dad's reports, you're a bit of a legend here."

Castle felt himself blush. "Yeah well… something like that. It's nice to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you, it's not like you're not less legendary than me."

She blushed too. "Oh please, don't believe everything you hear about Sniper Wolf, my mom is a better shot than me, really."

She seemed like a genuinely nice girl, but before they could talk more, Hunt cursed, loudly, as he inspected the parcel. "Fuck… why the fuck did it take so long for it to arrive? We needed this a month ago!"

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

"LokSat. Fuck… Richard, go and get Kate, we've got important stuff to discuss."

"Where should I take her?" he asked.

"I… Asia, Briefing Room 1 is free now, right?"

She nodded. "I think so. Should I get Mom too?"

"Yeah, I guess she'd like to be present. This thing is a bomb!"


	24. Must Be Quenched

**Chapter Twenty Four - Must Be Quenched**

Big Boss gathered everyone involved in the LokSat affair and then some in one of the briefing rooms. It was nothing more than a room with a large desk, some chairs with attached flippable tables, a projector and a white screen hanging on the wall, not too different from a classroom in a school or college.

When Castle and Kate arrived from the medical platform, everyone was already there, including Hayley, Jack, Rose, Hal, Quiet and Sniper Wolf. Even Jim was there, sitting close to Martha and Ocelot in a corner. Hunt waited for everyone to be seated before he threw the heavy file in his hands on the desk. Only Alexis was missing, but she was probably studying in her room, knowing her.

"This…" He pointed at the folder with the NYPD symbol printed on it. "This is what we've been looking for, for years. I have no fucking idea who had it, but I suppose it was Captain Montgomery's doing, as it was sent by Captain Victoria Gates, the new Captain of the Twelfth Precinct I was able to have instated. Anyway." He flipped open the first page. "We may now have enough material to start a serious, thorough search on some of LokSat's assets in New York, and maybe higher up in their hierarchy. We have time and resources to dedicate to the scouring of this file, and whatever we find can be the very first handhold we have since 1995."

"Boss, what's inside that file?" asked Ocelot.

"I only took a cursory look inside it, but I saw police reports, some pages that look like phone tapping transcripts and bank statements. There's a lot here, enough to keep us occupied for a while, checking every possible lead it will give us. And coupled with what we already have, if we connect the dots, we can have some people eliminated, rightfully so."

Castle startled a bit when Beckett, who was sitting beside him leaning heavily on his shoulder, grabbed his hand and held it tightly, her grip almost crushing. "By _eliminated_ you mean killed?" she inquired, her voice faltering on a couple of syllables as if she dreaded the answer she would receive.

"Yes, Detective," replied Big Boss. "This is how we usually work. We deal in black ops and wetwork."

"Do you really have to?"

The old soldier shrugged his massive shoulders. "Usually yes. We're not talking about your run of the mill criminal, your standard murderer that did it for money, rage or because they fell in love with the wrong person, we're talking about war criminals, crooked politicians and federal agents, whole CIA units perverted to the unhinged desires of a single man with only one goal in mind: world domination. If that does not call for a clean and swift assassination, I don't know what does."

At his side, Kate deflated like a rubber balloon and sagged against his shoulder. "It's just…"

He leaned closer and kissed her temple. "Kate, try to understand them. This is how they work, how we work actually. These are not the type of people that when arrested remain in jail for long."

"What about hard, irrefutable evidence?"

"They'd find a way to get out, be it legal or not. Believe me, I've seen how they work. They turned most of my unit against everything they stood for and used them to try and nuke Washington, and who knows what would have happened if I had failed!"

"So you approve his methods?"

Her voice sounded so sad, so defeated, so hopeless his heart shrunk to the size of a raisin. But he had to be honest with her, she deserved it.

"Yes, I do. And not because I like the idea of killing people, I'm even against death penalty, but because I recognize that sometimes there are people evil enough that they cannot be stopped by any conventional means. And if I have to put a bullet between their eyes, well call me a murderer, because I wouldn't think about it twice."

She hid her face against his shoulder. "Perhaps you're right. It's just… I always thought that playing fair would feel like I'm doing something right but…"

"Detective!" called Hunt from his desk. He must have heard her. "I bet everyone in this room would love playing fair. I used to play fair and I ended my most important mission one-eyed and suicidal. We don't play fair because these guys don't. You saw it yourself, you stirred up something you shouldn't have and they put a target on your chest. And I would remind you that they almost succeeded! Now, would you keep playing fair when you're surrounded by cheaters, hell bent on putting some lead in you?"

Eyes scrunched in a grimace of pain and anger, Kate shook her head. "No… I wouldn't."

"Then listen here. We can't move if we're not dead sure someone is definitely involved. We need hard proof, I don't want innocent blood on our hands. We need to be sure. That's why you detectives are going to scour through this file, with Hayley and Hal to help you, cross referencing everything that could be helpful for our cause with our own database. Ocelot, can you spare them?"

"Sure, as long as they return to their posts in case of emergency!"

"That was implied. Rose, you and Carter keep doing your job and help those two get better," he hinted at he and Kate. "Jack, put up a strike unit, take men with different specializations, we don't know if we'll have to fight in urban or other type of environment. If we have to fight, but… better be prepared, and take Rita and Asia with you. Captain Rogers, I bet you want to join your friends and help them."

Castle nodded, vehemently. "Of course I do."

"Then you have something to do too. Martha, I saw age hasn't dulled your analyst skills, would you mind helping on Intel Platform and fill in for Hayley?"

His mother wasn't expecting that question and in the beginning was startled by it, visibly. "Oh dear, Jackson, it has been a long while, I don't really know if…"

"Please Martha, I've seen you work wonders in worse conditions. We need all the help we can, and while I trust my men, I trust you more. So, you want to rehash your abilities and help us?"

From his position, a row behind his mother's seat and on her left, Castle saw a spark brightening her eyes and a quirky smile curving her lips. "Well, when you ask me like this, yes, I will help you."

Hunt nodded. "Good. I think we're set now, every one of us has a job to do, you're free to start now or wait for tomorrow, in any case Ocelot can find you a room to work in. Can you walk up stairs now, Detective Beckett?"

"Yes, for short distances, I can."

"Good. Need anything in particular to work, just ask Ocelot, he'll deliver. You are dismissed."

They walked out of the briefing room into a dark grey corridor and then outside on the ground level of the platform, just in time to see the last rays of the sun before it set behind the line the ocean painted between the water and the sky on the horizon, in the west.

Castle and Kate were among the last to leave the room and they stationed for a moment close to the railing. "You two talked, didn't you?" she asked him, leaning over the bulwark and looking far in the distance, to what looked like Support Platform. "You're not so angry anymore."

"Does it show so much?"

"Yeah, kind of. You didn't bark when he asked you a question."

"Well…" He joined her at the railing and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, we did talk, for a long while. And… it's not like we made peace but I think I can manage, let's put it this way. I was blinded by prejudice born of the misguided tales of people that held a grudge on Big Boss for personal reasons, nothing else. My training officer, Master Miller, I think I mentioned him… hated Big Boss for reasons that I can only describe as petty, now that I heard his side of the story."

"And you think he told you the truth?"

He shrugged. "No idea. But if there's something I learned from with PTSD and a mild paranoid disorder is reading people. He was calm and quiet, answered every question I asked and never tried to shy away from them. You know, Miller held his grudge on him over a woman."

Beckett seemed unsure of his words, given the puzzled grin on her face. "What? You mean his wife"?

"Oh yes," came the thunderous voice of Big Boss from behind them. "He held a grudge on me over the woman that became my wife shortly after his departure." He had walked up to them so silently they hadn't realized. Despite the heavy boots and his old age, his steps were as silent as those of a cat, he prowled more than walked. Scratching his thick beard, he stopped a few feet away from Kate and rested one hand on the railing. "She was a defector from one of LokSat's sections and he didn't trust her, despite all the work she had done for us in the previous year. He also didn't like all the humanitarian work we were doing around that time and well… the rest his history."

Kate chuckled. "Sounds like he was a quite arrogant man."

"Bitter, more than arrogant. You see, Detective, Kaz was born in a time when mixing races was frowned upon, and he was the son of an American soldier stationed in Japan and a local woman that had a shop. He never fit in, not among Americans, nor among Japanese. This formed his temperament and he became prone to resentment. And when a botched operation left him crippled, well… he didn't take it well."

"What happened?" she asked.

Hunt shrugged his shoulders. "Same old song. Sketchy intel, wrong informants, a sudden sandstorm in the middle of the desert of Afghanistan, he was captured and tortured and we had to rescue him. By the time we found him, he had lost the lower portion of his left leg and his right arm, right above the elbow." He spoke slowly and didn't seem to have any qualms with answering her questions, though she was a perfect stranger to him, or nearly so. "Rita was the last straw. When I captured her in Afghanistan, a couple of months after we had rescued him and refused to kill her despite the fact she was a very important agent of one of LokSat's specialized units, he antagonized her in any way he could."

He paused, a bleak smile curved his lips and he seemed lost in his thoughts, maybe his memories for a moment, before he spoke again. "When we fell in love, he lost it and he just left. One morning I woke up and he was gone. I never heard from him again, I just knew he was your instructor and that he was out there spitting out lies about me and Diamond Dogs and whatever. In a way, he forgot that we were a clandestine organization fighting another clandestine organization and that we needed to be careful, but we also needed all the help we could get, even from defectors."

Castle looked in the same direction as him and noticed, on the bridge that led to the closest second deck of Command Platform where Rita, his wife, and Asia, their adoptive daughter, were catching up after the latter had returned from what looked like a very long mission, as she had never been seen on Mother Base in the time they had lived there.

"They look close," he commented.

"They are. Peas in a pod, actually. Or snipers in their nest, I guess the metaphor would fit them better. I thought I was a good marksman, then I met her. I've seen her do things… God, she shot a jet pilot from a moving helicopter."

Beckett almost screamed. "What?"

"After nearly thirty years I have no idea how she did it. Listen now, Detective… I wanted to talk with you for a moment. If I may be so bold, I would suggest you speak with Asia, one of these days, and take some sharpshooting lesson from her.

At his side, Kate suddenly became rigid and jolted against his shoulder. "Why?"

"Believe me when I say that I have some experience with post traumatic stress disorder, though in my time it was simply called shellshock, and if there's something I learned from battling it for years is that sometimes seeing the other side of what caused the original trauma can help. It gives a sense of empowerment that really boosts any therapy you're following. Talk to Carter, I think he'll encourage you. And while I don't want to boast around too much, my daughter is quite an affable girl, just around your age. And she's very eager to get to know you better." He then looked at Castle. "And you too Richard, if you want. No pressure."

With that, he left them there to join his small family.

"Well," started Beckett once he was out of earshot. "Seems like a decent man, in the end."

Castle shrugged. "Yeah, seems like it. Are you hungry?"

"Kind of. Though I'm curious to see what's in that file."

"Guess I'll fetch Ryan and Esposito so we can start looking at it right now. What do you say?"


	25. To Fuel Hypocrisy

_Sorry about those three quick updates for that fic about Wonder Woman, it's just that I've been waiting for that movie for so long, and it was so good, that... I can't stop writing about it._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty Five - To Fuel Hypocrisy**

"I'm getting cross-eyed and we haven't found anything yet."

Kate's long whine interrupted the thick silence that had fallen upon them, on their fourth day of scouring the file Montgomery had compiled and the new Captain of the 12th had sent them. The three cops and Castle had undertaken the task of finding the name of LokSat agent, or agents, hidden in that thick folder, but it was a bunch of bank statements with only numbers and not a single name.

They were sure Montgomery knew very well whose those bank statements were, but stuck on a offshore platform, without access to the means they had when they were at work, was driving them nuts. They had narrowed down three different valuable leads to follow, with payments being made seen on a bank statement, resulting in bank deposits on other statements. It was a bunch of large but not so large sums, seemingly dirty money laundering or payments for deliveries of drugs, but those leads had no name, only numbers, to identify them.

And yes, with all the fine printings, it wasn't strange that Beckett was lamenting issues with her eyes. They had been working almost non stop for six hours and well, frustration was kicking in. Castle knew the feeling, of digging into unknown intel you haven't complied, stuff you weren't supposed to read or even ever see, stuff that was now your lifeline to solve a mystery that had changed your life. And just like his own, Beckett's life had been turned upside down multiple times, and he knew how she felt. She had been in her place, she had walked in her shoes for miles, in a sense he was still walking her shoes, except his were broken in jungle boots and hers were stiletto heels.

"You can take a break, Beckett," said Ryan. "We can keep digging, check some more leads. You have physical therapy in an hour, right?". She nodded.

"Why don't you take a walk outside then?" added Esposito. "It's a sunny day, take a walk outside. We'll take care of this."

"You sure, guys?"

Both Espo and Ryan nodded. "Absolutely. Castle, you have therapy too, right? Go and grab a coffee in the cafeteria, or take a walk, I don't know, just decompress before you go to the shrink. We know how bad it is for both of you. We'll check a couple of things here and then we'll report back to Doctor Hemmerich and see what he can dig out of any database he'll look into. We've got it covered."

In truth though, they weren't exactly keen on going to therapy that day. Things were getting at that stage where therapy really does hurt more than what you're trying to fix with it, and for the past few days they had both tried to skip it, or at least shorten their sessions, any way they could. Being _released_ from their current investigation job wasn't doing any good to their efforts to skip class, in a legit way.

Sure they could try to hide somewhere, but there were cameras everywhere, if they tried to skip therapy both their shrinks would start looking for them, Hunt would get wind of it like a second later and half of Mother Base security team would be assigned to searching them. And they would have found them in a nick of time, for sure.

So, defeated and knowing that for that day they had no excuse to skip, they used the ninety minute long gap to wander off for a while. They heeded Ryan's advice and got a cup of coffee, then walked aimlessly around the platform where their therapists had their offices, until at some point Kate stopped and leaned against the railing. "Are we doing the right thing?" she asked.

Castle stopped too and looked at her, but didn't like what he saw. Ever since that file had arrived, Beckett had been filled with a sudden sense of defeat that was so unlike her it worried him. "What do you mean, are we doing the right thing?"

"I mean… What we're doing here? This investigation, is the right thing to do? I just… We don't even know who we're facing and it's getting on my nerves, because Hunt knows, even your mother does but he won't tell us. It's like he wants us to find it on our own and it's frustrating!"

She took a long pause, set the now empty cup on the floor and ran her fingers through her hair. "And I want my gun."

That made him smile, for the shortest moment. He leaned on the railing too, at her side, and looked towards the vastness of the ocean in front of them. "Well, as for the gun, I think you just need to ask and you'd be given a Glock 19 on the spot. I don't think it will be yours, but it can be _like_ yours. As for who we're up against… I think both Hunt and my mother were deeply scarred by that guy and talking about him in other terms than his codename brings back bad memories. I doubt they had the support we have now, back in the day, so they just worked around a safe way to mention him without bringing back their worst memories. You read the file, Operation Snake Eater was pretty messed up."

"You talked to him some more?"

Castle shook his head. "No, haven't had the time."

She smirked. "Was it lack of time or was it lack of courage?"

He chuckled, loud. "A bit of both I guess. Come on, let's go and get wrecked."

Therapy had been hell. They were both pale as clean bedsheets when they walked out of their respective therapists' offices. Castle felt like a drunk that had just received a baseball bat right between his neck and his head. As for Kate, he had no idea, she hadn't spoken a word from the moment she had stepped outside Burke's office.

She just sagged against his side and let him take her back to their barracks and into her room. She sat down on her cot and hid her face on her knees bent against her chest, with her arms wrapped around them, while he crashed against the wall and slid down until he sat on the floor. "Well, today was tough."

"Do you feel like you're getting nowhere too?"

"Some days more than others. Today was one of those days," he replied. "Rose keeps saying I should go and talk to my mother but… I don't really know what good it would do."

"It would give you the chance to understand why she lied to you for so long about something so important."

"Yes, and bring back that damn feeling of inadequacy that has been clinging to me ever since."

She lifted her head just enough for him to see her bloodshot eyes and the tears silently streaming down her pale cheek. "Why? Why do you feel inadequate?"

He shrugged his shoulders and let his head fall back on the wall. "I don't know. Maybe because… because I feel like she never told me about my father, because I wasn't like him. She would look at me and be reminded of him, but I wasn't him. Not good enough. I'm not a legend, I never achieved anything great except as a writer. Venom Snake is not a name you hear whispered among comrades in late night chats or while idling during patrol, but Big Boss… The moment you mention him, his name resonates like a thunder in a valley, everyone turns their head when he's spoken of, rumors about him are born every year and almost every soldier around the world knows at least one of the myths about him. Me? I'm just the guy that let more than eight thousands men and children be massacred to save his sorry ass, or that nearly let a psychopath singlehandedly decide that everyone living in Washington DC and the area around that needed to die, be it in the initial blast of the nuclear warhead or for the radiations later on. And no one knows who I am or how and why I did those things. They just know that in 1995 thousands of men died in Bosnia and that in January 2005, on the 14th nothing bad happened. Wouldn't you feel a little bit inadequate, knowing that your father is well known for having stopped the Third World War, at least in certain settings of course, while you're a nobody?"

She gave him a minute nod. "I guess I would…" she chuckled. "But your mother knows about the feats of both of you, why should she think less of you, compared to him? She left him, to make sure you would have the best life she could possibly get you. That does say quite a lot, don't you think?"

"You know what, you talk a little too much like Rose," he stated, standing up. "I guess I'll go take a shower then."

"Go on, I think I'm going to look for Asia."

He stopped, halfway to the door, with the sole of his boot barely touching the floor beneath his feet. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I talked with my therapist about what Hunt suggested, about trying to see from the point of view of the man that caused me my PTSD, and he said it's a good idea. You said it yourself, she looks like a nice person, why not?"

He smiled, because Asia really seemed like a nice person, very friendly and fun to be around. She even seemed carefree, playing with her big dog-wolf mix on one of the platform as he had seen her doing just the other day. "Let me call her for you."

He picked the small HHT clipped to his belt and selected a frequency. "Asia?" he called, keeping a button pushed with his thumb. "Asia, it's Rick. Do you copy?"

The speaker crackled a bit. "Yes brother, loud and clear. Need anything?"

"Just your expertise, for a friend. She wants to see what's it like to be a marksman."

They heard the woman laugh on the other side of the line. "I'll set some targets around and warn Security Team. Tell Kate to meet me on Third Deck of Combat Platform. And to bring a pair of sunglasses. The lens flare is going to kill our eyes today."

"She'll be there. Thanks Asia."

"No problem. Wanna join?"

Castle shook his head. "No thank you. I think this should be a girls only party. Rick out."

Kate shook her head, with a sly grin printed on her face. "Wow, a direct line with Sniper Wolf? Should I be jealous?"

"Of what? Of my lethal adoptive step sister I literally met last week? Why should you? Besides, blondies are not my item, I've got a thing for brunettes…"

With that, he disappeared out of the door and rushed downstairs to reach the meeting point before the two women would. In fact, he even had time to ask an off-duty soldier where to find a pair of good binoculars with directional microphone while waiting for them.

Was he going to spy on them?

Yes, he was.

And he felt deeply ashamed for doing so, but he didn't really think Kate was ready to be on that side of the trigger of a sniper rifle. She wasn't ready to see the reticle, to lay down on the ground bracing for the devastating kick of a high-powered cartridge on her shoulder. No way she would be ready, not only after forty days after waking up from a major life saving surgery to save her from a bullet coming from a rifle like that.

He pressed his shoulders and back against the wall when he heard the noise of an incoming jeep, and quickly took a peek just behind the corner. Kate was already at the meeting point, observing the vast ocean around them, when Asia arrived on said vehicle. And she wasn't alone. On the passenger seat he saw Rita, her adoptive mother, another legendary trained sniper that used to create havoc among Soviet troops during their invasion of Afghanistan in 1984. _What the hell are they doing?_

The two women grabbed two large weapon cases each and asked Kate to follow them, both with large smiles lightning their faces. They seemed to be in a good mood, not bothered by Beckett's request of an unplanned sniping lesson, like that, out of the blue. No, they actually looked happy, as they slowly climbed the stairs on their way up, letting Kate dictate the speed of the trek. As he followed them, as silent as he could, he heard them laugh at times, while not exactly catching what they were saying, but both Asia and Rita were doing their best to make sure Beckett would feel at ease and comfortable among them.

Hell, after being shot in the chest by a sniper, being in the same place with not one but two of the deadliest snipers on earth would have triggered his PTSD in a second, but the two women were doing their very best to avoid that. Asia spoke of her dogs, most of them strays she would pick up from battlefields and train to search for landmines or even service dogs for wounded soldiers, while Rita was more inclined to ask Beckett questions about New York as a city in general, not her job or her relation to the city, as she hadn't been there in more than a decade and wanted to know how much it had changed.

When they reached the top helipad, situated nearly on the top of the tower, they finally stopped and prepared to settle the sniping nest they needed, and that gave Castle the perfect chance to move further up and find his own nest, a place where he could observe and listen, if the directional microphone embedded in the binoculars worked as good as the quartermaster had said, to make sure Kate would be treated with all the regards, and that such an exercise wouldn't tax her already stressed mind too much.

He found the perfect place a couple of levels above them, protected by a junction box on one side and a rack of emergency fuel cans on the other, so they wouldn't see his body and had little room to see his face as he lay prone on the floor. No facepaint this time to make his face blend in, but he had to do improvise. Not every mission starts with ideal conditions, after all.

He braced on his elbows and trying to maintain the lowest profile possible, he pointed the high-tech binoculars down to the three women. With one hand, he managed to slip the earpieces connected to the directional mic installed inside the binoculars and with a flick of a finger he could even hear what they were saying as Quiet and Wolf explained what a sniping nest was, what they would be doing in the next few hours, if she felt like it, and what kind of equipment they had brought. It looked like top of the line equipment, he saw a Heckler&Kock PSG1 with a massive telescopic sight, those used for very long range shooting, and a simpler, classic bolt action M24 with a smaller sight mounted on the top rail. Both guns sported sound suppressors, padded stocks, personalized colors and stabilized bipods. All top of the line equipment.

"Damn, I wished I had that type of gear when I was on active duty," he murmured.

"What, with governmental issues? You wish."

It took all of Castle's self control not to shriek like chalk on a blackboard, when he heard Hunt's voice startled him. The older man was kneeling about a yard behind him, a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes as he observed the trio. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What? Your girlfriend is following my advice and she's shooting with my wife and daughter, I wanted to see how it goes."

Castle grunted. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Have you kissed her?" asked Hunt.

"Yes, but…"

"Then, she's your girlfriend. Come on, let me listen."

" _See, sniping is a matter of maths, most of the time. Maths and concentration._ " Rita was talking, sitting in the improvised sniper nest with the M24 in her lap. " _We're not miracle workers, we rely a lot on instrumentation and the data we receive from them, and also the info we get from our spotter, if we have one. Now, Asia and I work solo, we don't use a spotter, but it's standard practice for snipers and marksmen to move in pairs, for both safety and improved shooting ratio reasons._ "

Kate nodded, a bit jittery. " _I see. It takes a lot of training though, right?"_

Asia nodded. " _Well, yes, it takes a lot of training, sometimes years, but you don't have to become us in the span of an afternoon. We're here to teach you the basics, so you can see what it's like to be on the other side of the crosshair. This_ lesson _isn't meant to turn you from police detective to a trained sniper. It's to give you a sense of empowerment, to turn the way you see yourself._ "

" _From the prey to the hunter,_ " added Rita. " _When you're going to crack that file we're all going on the hunt, you included. Jackson is already organizing the counter offensive, no matter what it will take. And we all need to do your part."_

" _Are you sure it will help?"_

Both women shrugged their shoulders. " _We've been on both side, behind and in front the crosshair,"_ said Asia. _"We've been shot, I've nearly died at least twice on the battlefield, and the only thing that got me going after my body healed was getting back shooting, even if it was only at the range. I'm quite sure you would feel better, if you were allowed to go back to work, because it would give you a sense of normality."_ Kate nodded, vehemently. _"But since we can't get you back to New York, as it's too dangerous for you and everyone around you, this is what we can do. A crash course to win your fear and get you back on your feet."_

" _Did it work for anyone else you know?_ "

"Yeah, did this type of _therapy_ work for anyone?" asked Castle, parroting Kate's question to Hunt.

"You mean the _violent_ approach to your problem? Well, before I met Rita I was trying to commit suicide without actually pulling the trigger, and I had been doing so for nearly twenty years. Being forced to go against someone as tough as her, first in the battlefield and then here on Mother Base - because believe me, she was a tough cookie even here - turned me from the zombie I had become into the soldier I once was."

"And she did so by…?"

"By not being so condescending and complacent with me. Everyone around me served and revered me like I was some kind of god. Quiet? She would question everything I said or did, just what I needed. Kate needs someone to show her that she can something different than being a prey, that she can be the badass detective in high heels she was before."

"I'm not even going to ask you why you knew she always wears high heels…"

"Well Richard, unlike you, I talk to your mother. And she told me a lot about Kate. Also, those legs? You must be blind not to see them, and those are the legs of a woman very accustomed to high heels."

" _Now, let's get a close range benchmark, then we'll move from there,"_ said Rita while her daughter set the PSG1 and loaded a magazine. " _Try to hit that white target right ahead, it's fifty meters from you, shouldn't be too hard even for a novice."_

Gingerly, Beckett lay prone behind the gun and gave it a long look. " _Safety's here, is the cartridge already loaded?"_

" _Pull that lever,"_ said Asia.

She did and Castle held his breath, as he observed as Kate wrapped her fingers around the grip and set her shoulder against the padded stock.

"That thing… it isn't super powerful, right?" asked Castle. "I mean, it's not going to hurt her, with the healing wound and everything?"

"Asia had it modified to obtain the lesser recoil she could. She's not a big girl, and recoil is detrimental for accuracy, you know that, and she often works as support fire, she needs to fire quickly and precisely. There's not another gun like hers, and if they're making Kate shoot with it, it means that she can take the recoil."

" _Oh, wait a second!"_ added Rita with some emphasis as she handed ear protection to Kate and Asia, followed by some clear plexiglass eye protection too. " _I almost forgot, Jackson would kill me if anything happened to you because I was careless with protection._ "

" _I_ would have killed you," seethed Castle. "Way before your husband."

Beside him, Hunt chuckled. "Catch her, if you can."

Castle's reply was swallowed by the noise of the shot, followed almost immediately by the ding of the metal plate hit by the bullet.

"Mmh, nice shot!" said Hunt. "Are you sure she's not a pro?"

"I don't know if they train cops to long range shooting, unless they enter SWAT teams, but everything's possible with Kate."

"Yeah," the older soldier convened. "She's that kind of woman, isn't she?"

"And then some."

" _Good job Kate!_ " cheered Asia as she took a quick peek through the spotting sight at the steel target. " _Right in the middle of the plate, great job. Can you see it?_ "

" _Yeah,"_ said Kate. " _I thought… I thought it would be harder though. I mean, the recoil and everything. I barely felt it._ "

Rita nodded. " _Ah yes, the magic of innovation. When I was her age recoil used to bruise my shoulder, and now this. Feel up to 75 meters? Careful with the glare, that target is a bit tricky._ "

"She's doing good, it seems," commented Hunt. "I don't see her distressed or anything."

"I think I'm more nervous than her," added Castle. "But you were right, Asia is really a nice girl. Her smile is so bright… never thought I'd see a mercenary smile like that."

"We're not all dark, twisted and broody. It's not like we all need to be the Meredith Grey of the military world."

Castle smiled. "Did you just quote Grey's Anatomy?"

Big Boss shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say, I do love some good drama when I can find one. But my guilty pleasure was, is and will always be Temptation Lane."

"Ah, Mother would be so damn pleased to hear that. She was on the show for what… three weeks? She never stopped bragging about it."

"When do you think I started watching it?"

Kate shot again. The metal plate dinged and even from their secluded spot, they could hear Asia cheer. " _Nice shot! You even compensated! Seems like I did good, placing that 600 meters target!"_

" _Oh Asia come on, don't rush her. It's already difficult enough to learn how to shoot long distance, if you push too much, she might get scared and lose the fun side of it."_

" _Fun side?"_ asked Kate. She did look interested, at least through the powerful binoculars an unnamed soldier had provided him, rather than distressed. Maybe it was the continuous chatting and support coming from the two women at her sides that alleviated it, he had no idea, but he had to give them credit where it was due: they did know how to support someone. Even when they were explaining the simple things, they were clear and calm and made it easy for Kate to follow them and, most of all, understand that they were there to help, not to make her suffer more. In another walk of life, those two could have become great teachers, the kind that made you love their subjects, no matter how tough or boring.

" _Well, if you can't find a fun side in what you're doing, even if it means finding something funny about killing people that isn't killing people, you're never going to love what you're doing,"_ explained Rita. " _Though believe me, there's nothing funny in killing people, but you can find the fun side into the challenge, or simply through the scope. You have no idea what I've seen people do during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. Those troops were funny as hell."_

" _Tell her about the sleeping dude that let himself be tied like a salami by Dad."_

"Now I want to hear it too."

" _Take a couple shots more to the 75 meter target, then move to the 100,"_ she instructed. " _And about the dude, there's not much to say. Jackson and I were scouting ahead of a small contingent during the later phases of the invasion, we were supposed to gather intel about a small base and then relay them to the rest of the soldiers who would overtake it, and well…"_ She waited for Kate to shoot a couple of times before resuming. " _Now aim a little higher, you need to start compensating a little more. Anyway, there was this guy on patrol duty, he had fallen asleep so Jackson thinks it would be a good idea to pull a prank on him. So he takes some paracord he always had on him, ties his legs together, together then his arms to his chest and his hands to his rifle. He was so out of it he didn't even stir. And Jackson was trying so hard not to laugh, and so was I! Fast forward a couple of hours, this guy is still fast asleep, Jackson extracts from the OP zone and joins me in my nest. DD troops go in, and this guy is awakened by the alarm and falls squarely on his face, his gun misfires and the bullet hits his superior in the butt. I swear it looked like a Monty Python sketch."_

"Is that true?" asked Castle while the three women laughed.

"Down to every little bit. I wish we had cameras set up because it was hilarious."

"I wish I had anything even half as funny as that to tell people. Most of my missions were complete crap."

Hunt chuckled. "I'm sure there's something funny you can tell people. You just need to find it."

They listened some more in silence, watched as Kate learned the way of sniping from long distance getting better with each shot she took. Castle grew incredibly fond of his adopted half sister, of the sheer enjoyment she seemed to get from helping Kate getting the shot right, while they chatted. There was something about her, even about her mother, that made him feel safe, trusting Kate in their hands. Despite having tons and tons of experience more than her, they were both calm as they explained things they had learned ages before. Their patience was astounding.

"Beckett's a fast learner," said Hunt after a long while.

It was Castle's turn to chuckle. "Don't I know it? She's one of the smartest people I've ever met in my life."

"Makes you wish you had met her earlier?"

"Yeah, kind of. Too bad she wasn't even a teenager when I enlisted. I bet I wouldn't have joined the army, had I known her."

"Meredith wasn't enough to keep you home?" he asked.

The younger man nodded. "Yeah, she wasn't enough. Now that I think of it, nothing at the time was enough to keep me home. I needed money, fast. The army needed men, even faster. I was a big, young, healthy guy, and they took me in the moment I set foot in the recruitment office. The rest is history."

"No man in the world enlists to become a black ops agent, and you boy… you were caught between a rock and a hard place, inheriting my quirks for stealth missions and your mother's quick tongue. Also, your drill sergeants trained you well. You became a better agent in a couple of missions than I ever was in my entire life. Also, you're a better man than what I can even hope I could be. Can I say I'm proud of you, for what you've become?"

Reluctantly, Castle gave him a curt, brief nod. "Yeah, I think you can. I'm not really a fan of being lied to, but I understand why you never approached me, or why Mother never told me about you. I'm…" he took a deep breath, felt his chest constraint with bottled up rage that suddenly released. He felt his shoulders sagged. "I guess I can live with the knowledge that I'm your biological son, and with time I can even learn not to hate you."

"Richard, I don't want you to suddenly spring up and love me like the father I never was, I just want you to make peace with yourself and your mother. She didn't lie to you for so long because she felt like it, but because she thought it was best for you. I did want to help, I did try to do so, but in the end, it was better to watch you take your own decisions and avoid interfering. I only moved when your mother thought you were going to go under again, like after Shadow Moses."

Big Boss' explanation made some things clearer, but at the same time made more questions pop up in his head. "I guess I'll have to talk to my mother in the end."

Hunt gave him a quick side look. "I guess it's time, don't you think?"


End file.
